Such apartments as she saw were either scandalously dirty or unaccountably dear, or both. 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. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. “In that laboratory one gets to disregard these passions,” began Capes.
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