"It is very good of you to come and see me, my dear sister," Annabel
remarked, throwing herself into a low chair, and clasping her hands
over her head. "To tell you the truth, I am a little dull."
"Where is your husband?" Anna asked.
"He is addressing a meeting of his constituents somewhere," Annabel
answered. "I do not suppose he will be home till late. Tell me how are
you amusing yourself?"
Anna laughed.
"I have been amusing myself up to now by trying to earn my living,"
she replied.
"I hope," Annabel answered lazily, "that you have succeeded.
By-the-bye, do you want any money? Sir John's ideas of pin money are
not exactly princely, but I can manage what you want, I dare say."
"Thank you," Anna answered coldly. "I am not in need of any. I might
add that in any case I should not touch Sir John's."
"That's rather a pity," Annabel said. "He wants to settle something on
you, I believe. It is really amusing. He lives in constant dread of a
reappearance of '_La Belle Alcide_,' and hearing it said that she is
his wife's sister. Bit priggish, isn't it? And if he only knew it--so
absurd. Tell me how you are earning your living here,
Anna--typewriting, or painting, or lady's companion?"
"I think," Anna said, "that the less you know about me the better. Is
all your house on the same scale of magnificence as this, Annabel?"
she asked, looking round.
Annabel shook her head.
"Most of it is ugly and frowsy," she declared, "but it isn't worth
talking about. I have made up my mind to insist upon moving from here
into Park Lane, or one of the Squares. It is absolutely a frightful
neighbourhood, this. If only you could see the people who have been to
call on me! Sir John has the most absurd ideas, too. He won't have
menservants inside the house, and his collection of carriages is only
fit for a museum--where most of his friends ought to be, by-the-bye. I
can assure you, Anna, it will take me years to get decently
established. The man's as obstinate as a mule."
Anna looked at her steadily.
"He will find it difficult no doubt to alter his style of living,"
she said. "I do not blame him. I hope you will always remember----"
Annabel held out her hands with a little cry of protest.
"No lecturing, Anna!" she exclaimed. "I hope you have not come for
that."
"I came," Anna answered, looking her sister steadily in the face, "to
hear all that you can tell me about a man named Hill."
Annabel had been lying curled up on the lounge, the personification of
graceful animal ease. At Anna's words she seemed suddenly to stiffen.
Her softly intertwined fingers became rigid. The little spot of rouge
was vivid enough now by reason of this new pallor, which seemed to
draw the colour even from her lips. But she did not speak. She made no
attempt to answer her sister's question. Anna looked at her curiously,
and with sinking heart.