“What have you done?” 212 “It is your own fault, Lucia. A good deal of the food will be in tins. Your reputation for hospitality would remain under a cloud though, for tea was distinctly mentioned. The constable, Sharples, is in my pay. They were the same. and those two beggars laughing as they breasted death! Girl, you've gone and done it!" He leaned down and caught her by the hand, and then raced with her to the bungalow. And the less “anything” happened the better. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. “Annabel,” she said brusquely.
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