‘Yes, but I’m probably chasing moonbeams. They ought to put a lamp. But you must promise me not to go near that abandoned hussy at Willesden. Am I quite hidden?" "Not quite;—keep your feet in. 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. Profligate women are never reclaimed. It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things.
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