She climbed back into the window an hour before sunrise. This was automatically rather than thoughtfully done; habit. The night was clear and moonlit, dazzling with even light blue shadows that shone into manicured lawns and pristine gardens. “Annabel! God in Heaven, it is Annabel!” She did not speak. ‘Small wonder in a way that he found hisself consolation elsewhere. She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark. ” “And he sat at my table,” Annabel said bitterly, “and yet he did not know me.
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