She caught her breath, and her eyes were lit with a sudden terror. The Reaper is not sated yet. What lends a tragic mockery to all these tender traps of hers was that she was within lawful bounds. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. Lady Palsworthy was the widow of a knight who had won his spurs in the wholesale coal trade, she was of good seventeenth-century attorney blood, a county family, and distantly related to Aunt Mollie’s deceased curate.
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