” A little sobbing cry from Annabel arrested Sir John’s attention. Springing to his feet in an ecstasy of terror, he stumbled, and had well nigh realized his worst apprehensions. "If the best nag ever foaled were to throw me in this unlucky spot, I'd blow his brains out. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. People had started filling the hall: instrumentalists, overly conscientious parents. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. There was a little pause between them, full for Ann Veronica of rapid elusive suspicions and intimations. Both carried packages of books and magazines. ’ There was a pause.
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