Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. His grief was so audible, that it attracted the notice of some of the bystanders, and Thames was obliged to beg him to control it. Perceiving he was about to take leave, Kneebone ventured to ask whom he had had the honour of addressing. ” Her hand hung over the side of her chair nearest to him. Finally she decided that even for an hotel she must look round, and that meanwhile she would “book” her luggage at Waterloo. He took her hands firmly in his and raised them to his lips. As Jack conjectured, no one was there, and, though a lamp was burning on a stand, they decided upon proceeding without it. . ’ ‘Don’t call me by name,’ she snapped.
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