Pragmar, the wholesale druggist, who lived three gardens away, and who had been mowing his lawn to get an appetite for dinner, standing in a fascinated attitude beside the forgotten lawn-mower and watching her intently. You are restless, aggressive, critical with all the crude unthinking criticism of youth. Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. “I won’t pretend,” he said, “that this is an accident. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. He laughed reassuringly. He noted an ebony cane laid close to hand, which suggested she was able to get about. You need have no apprehensions about him, Sir Rowland.
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