‘So it was. I am far too much the gentleman. Burn your palette and your easel. The blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. A man came out, and walking recklessly, almost cannoned into Ennison. “Annabel!” He looked at her thoughtfully. "Oh! nothin' partickler—mere curossity," replied Terence. Presently she became aware of footsteps hurrying after her, and glanced back to find Miss Klegg, a little out of breath, in pursuit. ‘Yes, only that this consolation he had found before he married my mother.
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