Besides—there is Sir John. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. The candle was shaking in his hand as Ruth appeared in the doorway. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. But a human being who is young and clean, as you are, is apt to ennoble—or explain away. He had removed his silk hat, and now sat looking at Ann Veronica over an untouched cup of tea; he sat gloating upon her, trying to catch her eye.
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