“You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. ” And while he talked and watched her as he talked, she answered, and behind her listening watched and thought about him. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me.
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