She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. Who’s for a rubber of whist?” Ennison made so many mistakes that he was glad to cut out early in the evening. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. That turned her mind to the more generalized aspects of her perplexities again. Deep verandas ran around the bungalows, with bamboo drops which were always down in the daytime, fending off the treacherous sunshine. She had neither the semi-boisterousness of the average American girl nor the chilling insolence of the English. “What a hypocrite you are. He kept that, but the rest. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear.
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