Suddenly a half stifled exclamation broke from Anna’s lips. “I don’t know how to prove myself to you, John. “I have been amusing myself up to now by trying to earn my living,” she replied. She tucked her stick under her arm and re-read Manning’s letter. O'Higgins know the truth; he wouldn't be reckless with the funds, then. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. “Don’t bunch too much as you come out,” she added. The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. If you do not help me to read the riddle of yourself, Annabel, I think that very soon I shall be a candidate for the asylum. And empty. .
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