“A new admirer, Annabel? But what has that to do with your going to England?” “Everything! He is Sir John Ferringhall—very stupid, very respectable, very egotistical. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. "My little fancy man's quite as fond of me as of you, Bess. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. He reached a silver cigar and cigarette box from the sideboard and put it before his father-in-law, and for a time the preliminaries of smoking occupied them both. Anna, quitting her chair, dropped on her knees by her sister’s side and took her hand. Nobody who cared. Her eye wandered quickly over that riotous and disorderly assemblage, until it settled upon one group more riotous and disorderly than the rest, of which her son formed the principal figure. Now when I tell you exactly the truth, you will also not believe me.
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