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. “Well?” he asked her tersely. “And children must we women bear— “Oh, damn!” she cried, as the hundred-and-first couplet or so presented itself in her unwilling brain. “No, it was simple. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though. You will do as I say, or—’ ‘Hoy!’ called Trodger from down the hall. I’ve seen him, and he doesn’t a bit understand. I have yet another. She could not resist enduing persons she met with the noble attributes of the fictional characters.
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