“We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. Spurling and Marvel. Be seated, and calm yourself. ” Chapter XV A MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE Anna looked about her admiringly. “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. It's sixteen days down, with The Tigress. He opened it—just off-hand, and then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon flying and splashing on to the tablecloth. The comments on the makeover lessened but were replaced by long admiring glances by boys who had never before given her the time of day. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters. He shook his head all the time.
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