And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. It’s for you to say if I may sit on it. Let’s face it, she hates Missy’s guts. This is not true at all. Spurlock had not coached her on this line of conduct. When in the plenitude of his power, he commenced a terrible trade, till then unknown—namely, a traffic in human blood. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch.
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