He shook his head.
“There have been other times,” he said a little sadly.
Her little white hand stole across the table. There was a look in her eyes which puzzled him.
“I have been very selfish,” she declared. “But you must forgive me, John.”
“I would forgive you a great deal more,” he answered readily, “for the sake of an evening like this. You have actually given up a dinner-party to dine alone with me.”
“And made you give up a political meeting,” she reminded him.
“Quite an unimportant one,” he assured her. “I would have given up anything to see you your old self again—as you are this evening.”
“I am afraid I have not been very nice,” she said sadly. “Never mind. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement.”
“I hope,” he answered, looking at her in some surprise, “that we shall have many more such to think about.”
They were lingering over their dessert. The servants had left the room. Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it.