XIV
They were alone at dinner. Annabel came in late and joined them, and there were only the three of them in the big room. It was very restful—with the shaded light from the candles; and there was a veiled happiness in the girl’s smile—a little wistful look that flitted through it when it rested on her mother’s face.
Richard More watched in silence.
“Did you have a good time?” he asked abruptly.
“Fine!” She crumbled her bread absently.
“What make of car is he running now?”
“What make—Oh—!” She looked up. “I didn’t notice.”
She was scanning her mother’s face—as if she had not quite seen her before.