What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. The young lady saw the change, and almost snorted. 256 Lucy chose her words carefully. Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. “You must answer me, Annabel,” she continued. He stepped in with a heavy foreboding of calamity. Eggs were procured for her, and she sat out the subsequent emotions and eloquence with the dignity becoming an injured lady of good family. "The pocket-book you prigged contained the letters I wanted. .
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