“Eight, Cavendish Square. The day was warm even under an overcast sky and Hilary, uncomfortable, shifted his weight. His apparel was sumptuous in the extreme, and such as was only worn by persons of the highest distinction. ‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration. She told us that it was a disguise. “I have always,” she admitted calmly, “taken a certain amount of interest in Annabel’s future. She feared he might take her tears as a sign of weakness. She entered quietly and padded up to her shared bedroom. ’ ‘I’m that sorry, miss,’ Kimble said glumly. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. This way, Sir Rowland. The life of a girl presented itself to her as something happy and heedless and unthinking, yet really guided and controlled by others, and going on amidst unsuspected screens and concealments.
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