A little Cockney recovered it, and made ridiculous attempts to get to her and replace it. He sent me flowers. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. The storm appeared to have blown over, for they were conversing in a very amicable manner with Mr. He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. ” “I suppose so. In her case the barrier was not selfishness but the perception that her interest would be misinterpreted, naturally.
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