“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. Eggs were procured for her, and she sat out the subsequent emotions and eloquence with the dignity becoming an injured lady of good family. There was a look in her eyes which puzzled him. Actually, he had come all this distance simply to fulfil a certain clause in his contract with Fate, to be in Canton on this particular day. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. “Hold on, she’s right here. For each costume she had devised a suitable form of matrimonial refusal.
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