She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. He would have some sport with Mr. He squatted and threw his arm around the backs of her knees. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being. “Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice. The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure. “I came to London,” said Ann Veronica, “rather because of my own difficulty.
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