He bore it as long as he could, watching all the time with fascinated eyes Annabel moving gracefully about amongst her guests, always gay, with a smile and a whisper for nearly everybody. She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. ‘We will converse in your own tongue,’ he said in French as he led her away.
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