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. The drunken beachcombers; the one-sided education; the utter loneliness of a white child without playfellows, human or animal, without fairy stories, who for days was left alone while the father visited neighbouring islands, these pictures sank far below their actual importance. She seemed to be making some sort of inventory. No mother would have sent her daughter into the world with such a wardrobe. Well might she do so, Gerald thought in irritation. Have you ever heard the name of Meysey Hill?” “Meysey Hill?” He repeated it after her, and she knew at once from his tone and his quick glance into her face that the name possessed some significance for him. “I hope,” Annabel answered lazily, “that you have succeeded. With trembling fingers she opened the post-bag. To be exact, it was just sixteen hours and twenty minutes.
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