When Mr. CHAPTER VII The astonishing collapse of Spurlock created a tableau of short duration. To stop her, Sebastian slapped her face and nearly dislocated her jaw. But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. “A new admirer, Annabel? But what has that to do with your going to England?” “Everything! He is Sir John Ferringhall—very stupid, very respectable, very egotistical.
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