“It is an annoyance, my friend,” she said, “not a tragedy. The carpenter threw himself flat upon the starling to avoid the fury of the wind. But I've an idea as well as you, grounded in some measure upon Sheppard's story. He nodded. Oh, I think I understand, Annabel. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. But it was the form of her ruling determination; it was the only form that she ever allowed to see daylight. “What a little brick!” he murmured. I hope that some day he'll understand how much he owes you. Then her white teeth gleamed, and her excuse for remaining any longer before that little marble table was gone.
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