If it were but the question of his reason for marrying her, the solution would have been simple. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. " And, with a few magical touches, he stamped the fleeting expression on the canvass. Either she had been seen, or they were seeking the air. ‘But with more courage in her little finger than in many another female’s entire body. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. “I don’t understand. “Oh, Lord!” she said, discovering what she was up to, and dropped lightly from the fence upon the turf and went on her way toward the crest. “This is the slavery of the veiled life.
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