So long as she could remember, her father had never permitted her to sit at the table unless she came fully dressed. It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. “You will have some tea?” she asked. By Jove! When I think of it I want to leap and shout!” “It would astonish that man with the barrow. I was—I was a corespondent. “You must leave me your address if you please,” he said, as she rose to go.
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