He was unusually absurd and ready, and all the time it seemed to Ann Veronica as a delightful possibility, as a thing not indeed to be entertained seriously, but to be half furtively felt, that he was being so agreeable because she had come back again. Sheppard, whose maternal fears drew her in another direction, hurried off to the Mint. “I see nothing of my sister,” she said. You must live for me. Miss Stanley threw aside a black cloak to reveal a discreet and dignified arrangement of brown silk, and then embraced Ann Veronica with warmth. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. A strong arm pulled her closer, and the lips that mouthed her own in tender touches sent her senses reeling. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being. But he held the smile until she turned away from the curtain.
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