" "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. There’s that old gentleman at the end of the table—Bullding his name is. Then—then we shall be together. ” Chapter XXVI ANNABEL IS WARNED “You!” David Courtlaw crossed the floor of the dingy little sitting-room with outstretched hands. Lady Trafford, supposed to be childless, broken in health and spirits, frail both in mind and body, is not likely to make another marriage. Thank goodness you’ll understand. She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes. His heir is dead, yes, and his name and title available to me. But it’s as you say. Ah Coom. It was nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows.
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