"Not so;" answered Wild. Through an open door was a glimpse of the bathroom—a vision of luxury, out of which Annabel herself, in a wonderful dressing-gown and followed by a maid presently appeared. "I don't understand you, gentlemen," stammered he, at length. She was gone. The cloth nearly touches the floor. And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to care in that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should have filled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cut the natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters. ‘We will converse in your own tongue,’ he said in French as he led her away. Then she passed from the room on the arm of General Lord Charvill, chatting animatedly to him. It was among artistic people.
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