She looked from Anna, who was far too nice-looking to be travelling about alone, to that reassuring pile of luggage, and wrinkled her brows thoughtfully. It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. "Well, lad, supposing you read what the editor has to say?" was McClintock's suggestion, when the frolic was over. Listen to me, Winifred. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. She dressed rapidly and left the theatre without a word to any one. They are not your flowers.
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