“I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. ” “That’s rather a pity,” Annabel said. Get the men back to their posts. I’ve thought that out, and you must make up your mind to it. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. For what could be more ironical than for Howard Spurlock to see himself grow famous under the name of Taber? The ambrosia of which he had so happily dreamt!—and this gall and wormwood! He stood up and rapped his pipe on the rail. "After him," cried Wild; "he mustn't escape. She felt the bedsprings coil as he moved from his seated position, entranced. “I don’t think you can have heard me, Vee,” he said, with intensely controlled fury.
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