“You have not seen your sister lately,” he remarked. “I believe that you would find her in some respects curiously altered. I have never in my life been so much puzzled by any one as by your sister. Something has changed her tremendously.”
Annabel looked at him curiously.
“Do you mean in looks?” she asked.
“Not only that,” he answered. “In Paris your sister appeared to me to be a charming student of frivolity. Here she seems to have developed into a brilliant woman with more character and steadfastness than I should ever have given her credit for. Her features are the same, yet the change has written its mark into her face. Do you know, Lady Ferringhall, I am proud that your sister permits me to call myself her friend.”
“And in Paris——”
“In Paris,” he interrupted, “she was a very delightful companion, but beyond that—one did not take her seriously. I am not boring you, am I?”
She raised her eyes to his and smiled into his face.
“You are not boring me,” she said, “but I would rather talk of something else. I suppose you will think me very unsisterly and cold-hearted, but there are circumstances in connexion with my sister’s latest exploit which are intensely irritating both to my husband and to myself.”
He recognized the force, almost the passion, which trembled in her tone, and he at once abandoned the subject. He remained talking with her however. It was easy for him to see that she desired to be agreeable to him. They talked lightly but confidentially until Sir John approached them with a slight frown upon his face.
“Mr. Ennison,” he said, “it is for you to cut in at Lady Angela’s table. Anna, do you not see that the Countess is sitting alone?”