Something seemed to dredge up from the recesses of her memory and she brightened. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. “Look at our clothes,” she exclaimed, “and besides, the funny little proprietor has gone down himself to help it along.
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