"Why not?" Annabel declared. "I am sick of it. It is dull--deadly dull." "And what about this man--Mr. Montague Hill?" Annabel put her hand suddenly to her throat and steadied herself with the back of a chair. She looked stealthily at Anna. "You have succeeded a little too well in your personation," she said bitterly, "to get rid very easily of Mr. Montague Hill. You are a great deal more like what I was a few months ago than I am now." Anna laughed softly. "You propose, then," she remarked, "that I shall still be saddled with a pseudo husband. I think not, Annabel. You are welcome to proclaim yourself 'Alcide' if you will. I would even make over my engagement to you, if Mr. Earles would permit. But I should certainly want to be rid of Mr. Montague Hill, and I do not think that under those circumstances I should be long about it." Annabel sank suddenly into a chair. Her knees were trembling, her whole frame was shaken with sobs. "Anna," she moaned, "I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. But oh, how weary I am! I know. If only--Anna, tell me," she broke off suddenly, "how did you get to know Mr. Ennison?" "He spoke to me, thinking that I was you," Anna answered. "I liked him, and I never undeceived him." "And he sat at my table," Annabel said bitterly, "and yet he did not know me." Anna glanced up. "You must remember," she said, "that you yourself are responsible for your altered looks." "For the others," Annabel said tearfully, "that is well enough. But for him----" Something in her sister's tone startled Anna. She looked at her for a moment fixedly. When she tried to speak she found it difficult. Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. "What do you mean, Annabel? You only knew Mr. Ennison slightly----" There was a dead silence in the little room. Anna sat with the face of a Sphinx--waiting. Annabel thought, and thought again. "I knew Mr. Ennison better than I have ever told you," she said slowly. "Go on!" "You know--in Paris they coupled my name with some one's--an Englishman's. Nigel Ennison was he." Anna stood up. Her cheeks were aflame. Her eyes were lit with smouldering passion. "Go on!" she commanded. "Let me know the truth." Annabel looked down. It was hard to meet that gaze. "Does he never speak to you of--of old times?" she faltered. "Don't fence with me," Anna cried fiercely. "The truth!" Annabel bent over her and whispered in her sister's ear. _Chapter XXII_ AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least. "I am delighted to see you, Mr. Ennison," she said, letting her fingers rest in his. "Do come and cheer me up. I am bored to distraction." He took a seat by her side. He was looking pale and ill. There were shadows under his eyes. He returned her impressive greeting almost mechanically.