Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. All that is jolly and as it should be. “Then there was a motor accident only an hour or so after this ceremony, and Hill was reported to be killed. So was I, in fact. "That's it!"—eagerly. Had he not said so? Not that she wished him to marry her. ’ ‘But this is idiot. ’ ‘It’s too late for that,’ Gerald told her evenly.
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