The sunshine was brilliant, the air mild. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. After these dinners they would have a walk, usually to the Thames Embankment to see the two sweeps of river on either side of Waterloo Bridge; and then they would part at Westminster Bridge, perhaps, and he would go on to Waterloo. But what are you doing here?” “Old Père Runeval met me on your doorstep, and he would not let me go. You are somebody’s secretary, are you not?” It was plain that the subject was distasteful to her, but Ennison, although famous in a small way for his social tact, did not at once discard it.
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