" "No; she accepts it," rejoined Jonathan, triumphantly. Again the chalky pallor spread even to her lips, her eyes became lit with the old terror. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. All through the love music of the second act, until the hunting horns of Mark break in upon the dream, Ann Veronica’s consciousness was flooded with the perception of a man close beside her, preparing some new thing to say to her, preparing, perhaps, to touch her, stretching hungry invisible tentacles about her. CHAPTER VIII. " "You are very good to me, Hoddy. Don’t you think that the shade of my hair is lovely?” “There is nothing particular the matter with the shade,” Anna answered, “but it is not nearly so becoming as before you touched it. We already had a place to mislay blame. Her eyebrows, pulled down by the stress of thought, now resumed their normal arches; and pleased with her discovery, she smiled. It was a haunted place.
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