And then there came for both of them at least a temporary awakening. 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. He bent over to Anna at once.
“It is your sister and her husband,” he said. “They are coming past our table.”
Annabel saw Ennison first, and noticing his single companion calmly ignored him. Then making a pretence of stooping to rearrange her flowing train, she glanced at Anna, and half stopped in her progress down the room. Sir John followed her gaze, and also saw them. His face clouded with anger.
It was after all a momentary affair. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. They vanished through the doorway. Anna and her escort exchanged glances. Almost simultaneously they burst out laughing.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“Limp,” he answered. “As a matter of fact, I deserve to. I was engaged to dine with your sister and her husband, and I sent a wire.”
“It was exceedingly wrong of you,” Anna declared. “Before I came to England I was told that there were two things which an Englishman who was comme-il-faut never did. The first was to break a dinner engagement.”
“And the second?”
“Make love to a single woman.”
“Your knowledge of our ways,” he murmured “is profound. Yet, I suppose that at the present moment I am the most envied man in the room.”