It was the beginning of June. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. ” “And he sat at my table,” Annabel said bitterly, “and yet he did not know me. It must have cut him. She liked to do it for Cathy Beck, so that she could relax after waitressing all day at the Big Apple with a homemade meal. I took the usual way home. She decided to go out into the London afternoon again and get something to eat in an Aerated Bread shop or some such place, and perhaps find a cheap room for herself.
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