His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. . Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. He did not even care for his own inheritance at this place in Wodeham Water. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. Don’t you think that the shade of my hair is lovely?” “There is nothing particular the matter with the shade,” Anna answered, “but it is not nearly so becoming as before you touched it. The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being.
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