“The adventures I do not doubt, Annabel,” she said. You are all that I am or hope to be—the celestial atom God put into me at the beginning. . . ‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. The man muttered something inaudible, and gathered up the reins. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled.
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