” She sat motionless, with her hand tightening over the edge of the table, and he, too, said no more. His face was white. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. There’s a hansom coming round the corner. ‘What is the matter?’ ‘Is there nothing you do not know?’ she asked faintly. Here one might live the life of golden days. Mrs. Over an old crazy bedstead was thrown a squalid, patchwork counterpane; and upon the counterpane lay a black hood and scarf, a pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning of the last century, and some other articles of female attire.
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