God had never answered any of her prayers. This way, Sir Rowland. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. But it was her proof. The affair passed at one leap from a spree to a nightmare of violence and disgust. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. His eyes were narrow with desire like a panther’s as he grinned at seeing her visibly satisfied. He began shoveling dirt over the bodies. Her cogitations were dissipated by a knock on the door.
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