" "Take it back yourself," retorted Jack, sullenly. “Annabel?” he exclaimed. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation. What was the fellow doing in this part of the town? Had not Lady Bicknacre said he was living at Paddington? The Frenchman, booted and neat in buckskin breeches and a plain frockcoat, a flat-brimmed hat on his head, paused a moment at an intersection with one of the roads leading north, apparently seeking a street sign. She could not help herself. Suddenly he stopped short. Annabel was in hiding all the time. The address was of course her destination, thousands of miles away, an infinitesimal spot in a terrifying space. After you went he got up and took refuge in the preparation-room. I can't concentrate on my work.
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