But ere the words could find utterance, her maternal tenderness overcame her indignation; and, sinking upon her knees, she extended her arms over her child. Michelle briskly made introductions and then joined the fray of conversations. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. Her mouth dry, she made her feet walk on, not daring to utter a word. That is why I am glad that she has gone to London. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. Sir John saw it, and was flattered.
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