He reached for her chin and lifted it up. He bore it as long as he could, watching all the time with fascinated eyes Annabel moving gracefully about amongst her guests, always gay, with a smile and a whisper for nearly everybody. "Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. “By Jove!” he exclaimed. He made the universe on those lines. McClintock could not browbeat him, storm as he might. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains. .
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