So far, however, was this submission from producing the desired effect, that it seemed only to lend additional fuel to her displeasure. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. One little minute with soap and water, voilà tout. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered. “What is going on between you two?” Lucy asked. Let me see now. It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear.
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