" "But, my love," still remonstrated Wood, "you know I'm going to look after the boys——" "After Mrs. " "From some of your associates?" "From your uncle, from my uncle,—Sir Rowland Trenchard. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. ‘I don’t want him having an apoplexy in this house. Capes—the ‘Capes crave,’ they would call it in America. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. She thought of them as fools, but had been sorry to see them go. ’ He let her go. ” “That is another French custom,” he remarked, “which is not so agreeable.
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