” The girl sat up and looked at him with a curious twist at the corners of her mouth —humorous or pathetic, he could not tell which. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. She fell into another slumber, one which was more like a blackout.
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