165 “Uh, my parents are going skiing in Colorado after New Year’s. I hope that you did not permit her to feed?” “But I did! I did!” She sobbed. For a time she could scarcely believe he was gone. 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. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. In this state, it will be easy to draw him into a snare.
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