“You knew it,” he added, in her momentary silence. “It will spoil your life. “Call me Annabel. One of those hanging moments ensued— hypnotic. Before he could return, Jack had made good his retreat; and, wandering about the lanes and hedges, kept out of sight as much as possible. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. His quiet, kindly smile implied his serene disbelief in any confessible thing. “You have put all your life in my hands,” he declared.
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