It would not be possible otherwise to live in daily contact with this level-eyed, lovely girl without loving her. He stepped in with a heavy foreboding of calamity. She glanced into his face. “It is an annoyance, my friend,” she said, “not a tragedy. “I will MAKE you love me! Until he has faded—faded into a memory. ” A little sobbing cry from Annabel arrested Sir John’s attention. “You’d have to think how to get in between his bones. I’m glad you could come. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. The young man had knocked over the siphon. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. Mr. "What's the matter?" he cried. Endless complications ensue when both sisters return to London.
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