She nibbled at his neck gently, sweetly, as her hand tracing his chest. Thames took it, and beheld the portrait of a young man, apparently—judging from his attire—of high rank, whose proud and patrician features certainly presented a very striking resemblance to his own. “You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried. “This is what comes of being a young woman up to date. It was never intended that I should marry Monsieur Valade, but after the tragedy—’ her eyes darkening in genuine distress ‘—and that he was the only survivor, he came to me in the convent and married me, and brought me to England. . ” She passed out without reply. CHAPTER III. Sheer calculation on his. ’ ‘Dear me.
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