"Go!" said Lady Trafford; "it is my last request. So it does. Ennison himself, with the recollection of Annabel’s visit still fresh in his mind, was for a moment constrained and ill at ease. He recalled with exasperating perplexity her clear, matter-of-fact tone as she talked about love-making being unconvincing. “Very good,” he said. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. “As she asked!” “It is already too late. The lady murmured briefly to her husband, and then tucked her hand into Alderley’s arm. It must have been impossible to see me through that much rain.
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