” Annabel looked down. " "I wish you did have some faults, Ruth. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. And she had not dressed herself in this habit of a blue so much like the sky just for his sake, no matter that Lucy had said how much this colour suited with her eyes. —D'ye hear?" Still the widow remained silent. Annabel, I cannot believe it. He was by no means certain that she would not in fact attempt to blow off his head as she had threatened. He thought her only an orphan in search of her English relatives. His large, coarse lips drew wider apart.
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