" He held out his dry hard hand into which she placed hers. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. Sheppard's dress—extremely neat and clean, but simply fashioned, and of the plainest and most unpretending material,—offered nothing assailable; and her demeanour was so humble, and her looks so modest, that—if she had been ill-looking—she might, possibly, have escaped the shafts of malice preparing to be levelled against her. By a tacit agreement they ignored the significant thing between them, ignored the slipping away of the ground on which they had stood together hitherto. That’s really why we do them sometimes rather well and get on. A beachcomber in embryo, and she had lent a hand through habit as much as through pity. She admired and rather pitied him, and she was unfeignedly grateful to him. Am I so forgettable?” He strode down the hall as she ran to catch up with him past lockers someone had painted an abysmal shade of gray blue.
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