‘There were the Comte and Comtesse de St Erme. Will you marry me?” Anna looked at him in blank amazement. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. ” Her hand hung over the side of her chair nearest to him. ‘I said you were sympathique,’ she told him. For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate. Ennison himself, with the recollection of Annabel’s visit still fresh in his mind, was for a moment constrained and ill at ease. It resembled Mardi Gras, and she thought disdainfully of New Orleans.
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