‘Here we go again. “Yes,” she said, very faintly. She moved a little nearer to him. ‘You don’t mean to say she’s here?’ ‘Was,’ Gerald corrected. “He means nothing!” She whispered loudly. She let out a wail. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruth believed him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was only masquerading as Spurlock. Is all that folly done with—for ever?” Annabel shivered ever so slightly. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. ‘Now,’ she said, in an imperious manner that so much reminded him of Melusine that he was obliged to suppress a grin, ‘I can see you properly. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. For five minutes he has been trying to think of something to say. Amidship there was also canvas, and like that over the wheel, drab and dirty. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “don’t!” “Why not?” she asked, smiling.
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