Anna glanced towards her sister, but the latter avoided her eyes.
“I have always,” she admitted calmly, “taken a certain amount of interest in Annabel’s future. I should like to know how it is concerned with Sir John Ferringhall, and how my presence intervenes.”
“Sir John,” Miss Pellissier said impressively, “has asked your sister to be his wife. It is a most wonderful piece of good fortune, as I suppose you will be prepared to admit. The Ferringhalls are of course without any pretence at family, but Sir John is a very rich man, and will be able to give Annabel a very enviable position in the world. The settlements which he has spoken of, too, are most munificent. No wonder we are anxious that nothing should happen to make him change his mind.”
“I still——”
Anna stopped short. Suddenly she understood. She grew perhaps a shade paler, and she glanced out into the street, where her four-wheeler cab, laden with luggage, was still waiting.
“Sir John of course disapproves of me,” she remarked slowly.
“Sir John is a man of the world,” her aunt answered coldly. “He naturally does not wish for connexions which are—I do not wish to hurt you feelings, Anna, but I must say it—not altogether desirable.”
The irrepressible smile curved Anna’s lips. She glanced towards her sister, and curiously enough found in her face some faint reflection of her own rather sombre mirth. She leaned back in her chair. It was no use. The smile had become a laugh. She laughed till the tears stood in her eyes.
“I had a visit from Sir John in my rooms,” she said. “Did he tell you, Annabel?”
“Yes.”