“You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried. Odd, but he had never thought of the beach until this girl (who looked as if she had stepped out of the family album) referred to it with a familiarity which was as astonishing as it was profoundly sad. She closed her eyes more vividly to recall some line which had carried the blot. ‘Dare I suppose that to be of her making?’ Gerald flushed. The girl was in the game now, and that narrowed the circle. The key is in my trousers. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. If you talk of your faults, I shall talk of your splendors. "'Sdeath! do you trifle with me, sirrah?" cried Rowland fiercely.
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