I hid because there was no other way of seeing you. ” Annabel laughed softly. ” His eyes were closed. She must not show anything. Earles would permit. The truth at once flashed across his mind. Only the major won’t have it, and we’ve to bide by what the major says. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. Sir John hesitated. Widgett was a journalist and art critic, addicted to a greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; he smoked corncob pipes in the Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third class to London by unusual trains, and openly despised golf.
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