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By noon Blue Bonnet had met a number of the girls including two of Annabel's most intimate friends: Sue Hemphill, from somewhere in the Middle West, and Ruth Biddle, a Pennsylvania girl. Ruth was Annabel's room-mate; a plain-looking girl, but decidedly aristocratic blue blood written in every line of her delicate features and rather aloof bearing.
"Besides," said Willock, "we knows none of them high people, the name wouldn't be nothing to us and her next letter will likely have it more'n once." Wilfred resumed the letter: "I must tell you good-by, now, for Annabel's maid has come to help me dress for dinner, and it takes longer than it did to do up the washing, at the cove; and is more tiresome. But I like it.
James's Street, where Lady Annabel's man of business had engaged them apartments.
She was generous, kind-hearted, and grateful; not insensible of her own deficiencies, and respectable from her misfortunes. Lady Annabel was one of those who always judged individuals rather by their good qualities than their bad. With the exception of her violent temper, which, under the control of Lady Annabel's presence, and by the aid of all that kind person's skilful management, Mrs.
The Reverend John rode home in the stage beside Miss Annabel, not from choice, but because the young lady's father insisted upon it. Miss Daniels gushed and enthused as she always did. As they drove by the Corners the minister, who had been replying absently to Annabel's questions, suddenly stopped short in the middle of a sentence.
She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. It was Annabel's. The lace was family lace, easily recognizable. The perfume was the only one she ever used. Annabel had been here then. It was she who had come out from the flat only a few minutes before. It was she
The babel of tongues rose high, and every one had something to say with regard to the room which had been assigned to Priscilla. "Look," said Miss Day, "it was in that corner she had her rocking-chair. Girls, do you remember Annabel's rocking-chair, and how she used to sway herself backward and forward in it and half-shut her lovely eyes?"
A dress can't do much for you when you look like a skinned rabbit, all on account of your hair." She recalled the coiffure in which Annabel Sinclair had presented herself the previous day, and loosening the coil of her hair, as glossy and abundant as ever, she imitated with a skill which surprised herself, Annabel's version of the latest mode. She was studying the effect when some one knocked.
Venetia sprang from her seat; she rushed forward with convulsive energy; she clung to her mother, threw her arms round her neck, and buried her passionate woe in Lady Annabel's bosom.
The first grave symptoms of illness in her father opened a new chapter of Annabel's life. It was time to lay aside books for a little; the fated scheme of her existence required at this point new experiences.
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