He neither attempted to prevent his nephew's departure, nor to follow him. He stamped his last letter as Annabel entered. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. "Oh! Jack! Jack!—you little know what a price I've paid for you!" "Well, I'm glad those women are gone," remarked Shotbolt. You're rich. " "Sir Rowland is my brother," resumed Lady Trafford coldly. Perhaps it was loneliness. And they could talk, they found; and never once, it seemed, did their meaning and intention hitch. But this was but a momentary gleam of personal application, and at this time she followed it up no further.
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