Then she came a few steps to meet him.

"Mr. Courtlaw, is it not," she remarked, with lifted eyebrows. "Really it is very kind of you to have found me out."

He was bereft of words for a moment, and in that moment she escaped, having pa.s.sed him on deftly to one of the later arrivals.

"Lady Mackinnor," she said, "I am sure that you must have heard of Mr.

David Courtlaw. Permit me to make him known to you--Mr. Courtlaw--Lady Mackinnor."

With a murmured word of excuse she glided away, and Courtlaw, who had come with a mission which seemed to him to be one of life or death, was left to listen to the latest art jargon from Chelsea. He bore it as long as he could, watching all the time with fascinated eyes Annabel moving gracefully about amongst her guests, always gay, with a smile and a whisper for nearly everybody. Grudgingly he admired her. To him she had always appeared as a mere pleasure-loving parasite--something quite insignificant. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. And instead he found her playing the great lady, and playing it well. She knew, or guessed his mission too, for more than once their eyes met, and she laughed mockingly at him. At last he could bear it no longer. He left his companion in the midst of a glowing eulogy of Bastien Leparge, and boldly intercepted his hostess as she moved from one group to join another.

"Can you spare me a moment?" he asked. "I have a message from your sister."

"Are you in a hurry," she asked carelessly. "A lot of these people will be going presently."

"My message is urgent," he said firmly. "If you cannot listen to me now it must remain undelivered."

She shrugged her shoulders and led him towards a small recess. "So you come from Anna, do you?" she remarked. "Well, what is it?"

"Montague Hill is recovering consciousness," he said. "He will probably make a statement to-night."

"That sounds very interesting," she answered coolly. "Perhaps I should better be able to understand its significance if you would explain to me who Mr. Montague Hill is."

"Your husband," he answered bluntly.

She did not wince. She laughed a little contemptuously.

"You and Anna," she said, "seem to have stumbled upon a mare's nest.

If that is my sister's message, pray return to her and say that the doings and sayings of Mr. Montague Hill do not interest me in the least."

"Don't be foolish," he said sharply. "You were seen to leave the flat, and your handkerchief was found there. Very likely by this time the whole truth is known."

She smiled at him, an understanding smile, but her words defied him.

"What a beautiful mare's nest!" she exclaimed. "I can see you and Anna groaning and nodding your grave heads together. Bah! She does not know me very well, and you--not at all. Do have some tea, won't you? If you must, go then."

Courtlaw was dismissed. As he pa.s.sed out he saw in the hall a quietly dressed man with keen grey eyes, talking to one of the footmen. He shivered and looked behind as he stepped into his hansom. Had it come already?

_Chapter XXVII_

JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN

"Confess, my dear husband," Annabel said lightly, "that you are bewildered."

Sir John smiled.

"My dear Anna," he answered. "To tell you the truth, it has seemed just lately as though we were becoming in some measure estranged. You certainly have not shown much desire for my society, have you?"

"You have been wrapped up in your politics," she murmured.

He shook his head.

"There have been other times," he said a little sadly.

Her little white hand stole across the table. There was a look in her eyes which puzzled him.

"I have been very selfish," she declared. "But you must forgive me, John."

"I would forgive you a great deal more," he answered readily, "for the sake of an evening like this. You have actually given up a dinner-party to dine alone with me."

"And made you give up a political meeting," she reminded him.

"Quite an unimportant one," he a.s.sured her. "I would have given up anything to see you your old self again--as you are this evening."

"I am afraid I have not been very nice," she said sadly. "Never mind.

You must think of this evening, John, sometimes--as a sort of atonement."

"I hope," he answered, looking at her in some surprise, "that we shall have many more such to think about."

They were lingering over their dessert. The servants had left the room. Annabel half filled her gla.s.s with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it.

"I am developing ailments," she said, meeting his questioning eyes.

"It is nothing of any importance. John, I have something to say to you."

"If you want to ask a favour," he remarked smiling, "you have made it almost impossible for me to refuse you anything."

"I am going to ask more than a favour," she said slowly. "I am going to ask for your forgiveness."

He was a little uneasy.

"I do not know what you mean," he said, "but if you are referring to any little coolness since our marriage let us never speak of it again.

I am something of an old fogey, Anna, I'm afraid, but if you treat me like this you will teach me to forget it."

Annabel looked intently into her gla.s.s.

"John," she said, "I am afraid that I am going to make you unhappy. I am very, very sorry, but you must listen to me."

He relapsed into a stony silence. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. She wore a wonderful dress of turquoise blue, made by a great dressmaker for a function which she knew very well now that she would never attend. Her hair once more was arranged with its old simplicity. There was a new softness in her eyes, a hesitation, a timidity about her manner which was almost pathetic.

"You remember our first meeting?"

"Yes," he answered hoa.r.s.ely. "I remember it very well indeed. You have the look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of a frightened child."

She looked into her gla.s.s.

"I was frightened then," she declared. "I am frightened now. But it is all very different. There was hope for me then. Now there is none. No, none at all."