Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. Three more people came to meet them at the door. Was he your natural father? Did you know him?” “No, I didn’t. “Is it any one you know?” Brendon asked. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. Both ladies were on easy and friendly terms with all that was best in Morningside Park society; they had an afternoon once a month that was quite well attended, they sometimes gave musical evenings, they dined out and gave a finish to people’s dinners, they had a full-sized croquet lawn and tennis beyond, and understood the art of bringing people together.
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