” She became aware of her aunt, through the panes of the greenhouse, advancing with an air of serene unconsciousness from among the raspberry canes. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. Shortly afterwards,—it seemed an age to the anxious mother,—Mr. She had seen for herself right up in the bedroom window with her binoculars when Joanie was gone shopping one night, right with her own eyes. ” “Annabel, are you mad? To England! You are joking, of course. She would never, never go back. ‘I suppose he isn’t this Leonardo you spoke of?’ ‘Certainly he is not Leonardo. Yet she never once thought of changing it. ‘Idiot.
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