’ ‘Which is exactly what started us off,’ Gerald said to his friend with a grin, as he gave up his injured hand to the other’s ministrations. He seated himself before it. But about his unknown rival he was acutely curious. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. I’ve had my time and lost my chances. Drummond,” he continued, looking across at his vis-à-vis, “we look to you to give expression to our sentiments.
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