Annabel turned on the electric light and made her way into the sitting-room. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. Such names shone brightly in the darkness, with black spaces of unilluminated emptiness about them, as stars shine in the night; but now—now it was different; now it was dawn—the real dawn. ‘How do you like England?’ ‘People have been very kind,’ Valade said, answering for them both. Sometimes a whole morning would pass without Spurlock uttering a word beyond the request for a drink of water. It’s just to feel—one owns one’s self. She looked at him curiously. For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel.
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