" "Loves!" echoed Winifred, slightly colouring. Annabel had been here then. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. He was halfway across the ballroom, where the dancing had ceased for the musicians to take a well-earned rest, when Roding pounced on him. In the corner of the room were two hockey-sticks and a tennis-racket, and upon the walls Ann Veronica, by means of autotypes, had indicated her proclivities in art. A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal.
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