His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. “Is that you, Nigel?” she asked. ‘How did you get in? The house is all locked up. ” She shocked him by that. ’ She paused, struggling for the word. "Oh, you're here, are you?" said the ruffian, with an exulting laugh: "I've been looking for you everywhere. To settle things, you know. It is customary even where an agreement is drawn. Maybe half a year, counting this summer. Her thoughts were busy with the possibilities of this break in her journey. As he crossed this chamber, his foot struck against something on the floor, which nearly threw him down, and stooping to examine the object, he found it was a key.
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