"All right, Dunster," he said. "I may go to Hatton House later, but you needn't wait. I can get into my clothes." The man hesitated. "Can I bring you anything, sir--a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You'll excuse me, sir, but you haven't touched your coffee." "Bring me a whisky and soda, and a box of cigarettes," Ennison answered, "and then leave me alone, there's a good fellow. I'm a little tired." The man obeyed his orders noiselessly and then left the room. Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette. "What a fool I am!" he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. "And yet I wonder whether the world ever held such another enigma in her sex. Paris looms behind--a tragedy of strange recollections--here she emerges Phoenix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar. And then--this sudden thrust. God only knows what I have done, or left undone. Something unpardonable is laid to my charge. Only last night she saw me, and there was horror in her eyes.... I have written, called--of what avail is anything--against that look.... What the devil is the matter, Dunster?" "I beg your pardon, sir," the man answered, "there is a lady here to see you." Ennison turned round sharply. "A lady, Dunster. Who is it?" The man came a little further into the room. "Lady Ferringhall, sir." "Lady Ferringhall--alone?" Ennison exclaimed. "Quite alone, sir." Ennison was dismayed. "For Heaven's sake, Dunster, don't let her out of the carriage, or hansom, or whatever she came in. Say I'm out, away, anything!" "I am sorry, sir," the man answered, "but she had sent away her hansom before I answered the bell. She is in the hall now. I----" The door was thrown open. Annabel entered. "Forgive my coming in," she said to Ennison. "I heard your voices, and the hall is draughty. What is the matter with you?" Dunster had withdrawn discreetly. Ennison's manner was certainly not one of a willing host. "I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall," he said quietly. "For your own sake, let me beg of you not to stay for a moment. Dunster shall fetch you a cab. I----" She threw herself into an easy chair. She was unusually pale, and her eyes were brilliant. Never had she seemed to him so much like Anna. "You needn't be worried," she said quietly. "The conventions do not matter one little bit. You will agree with me when you have heard what I have to say. For me that is all over and done with." "Lady Ferringhall! Anna!" he exclaimed. She fixed her brilliant eyes upon him. "Suppose you call me by my proper name," she said quietly. "Call me Annabel." He started back as though he had been shot. "Annabel?" he exclaimed. "That is your sister's name." "No, mine."