A common rage flushed their faces. Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat. ‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. The unknown, previously so attractive, now presented another face—blank. It was easy to discover that he was a knave, but equally easy to perceive that he was a pleasant fellow; a combination of qualities by no means of rare occurrence. “As things are at present,” she said, “it is true. He is in the care of those who will not leave the task assigned to them—the utter perversion of his principles—half-finished. Lucy wore it every day from then on. He will tell you confidentially that he simply hates the place. ” She glanced into his blue eyes wearily. “I don’t know, John. 207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. It came to her like a dear thing rediscovered, that she loved Capes. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard.
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