The Well Hole. Her body rose up to meet his in a cat-like stretch and she smiled. She had been so busy with life that, for a vast gulf of time, as it seemed, she had given no thought to those ancient, imagined things of her childhood. Annabel shook her head. “Monsieur would dine! It was very good! And Madame, of course?” with a low bow. “But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. Besides—there is Sir John. And instead of accepting the situation gratefully, he felt vaguely hurt! One evening in September a proa rasped in upon the beach. A certain irritation crept into his manner as he did so.
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