It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. Never had she seemed to him so much like Anna. I promise not to do it again. ‘I’ll take wine,’ the lady said briefly, turning back instantly to Hilary. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. She could learn nothing of her son, and only obtained one solitary piece of information, which added to, rather than alleviated her misery,—namely, that Jonathan Wild had paid a secret visit to the Cross Shovels.
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