Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. Picked up the photograph, looked at it, handed it back, and never batted an eye! The act was as clear as daylight, but the motive was as profoundly mysterious as the race itself. ‘Whither away, mademoiselle?’ he said grimly, ungently grasping her arm above the elbow. She took to listening through closed doors. He was suddenly calm. The girl wished that she had come afoot, despite the knowledge that she would have suffered many inconveniences, accidental and intentional jostling, insolence and ribald jest.
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