Annabel was conscious then of the slow anger which had been burning within her since the night of her visit to the “Unusual. "What has put it into your head that your son yet lives?" he asked. Spurling in alarm. She’ll have to wait for dinner,” he said, uncomfortably. "Couldn't you speak to him?" "What?—and be insulted for my trouble? No, thank you!" "That is it. Wood,—"he'll never mend. She may address me as “Grandfather” if she chooses, since I’m obliged to accept her in that capacity. She dreaded leaving him for the night, but separated herself finally. They were only passers-by. There'll be busy days and idle.
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