I picked up her handkerchief on the floor. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. She looked away. My mind is full of ideas and images that I have been cherishing and accumulating—dreams of travelling side by side, of lunching quietly together in some jolly restaurant, of moonlight and music and all that side of life, of seeing you dressed like a queen and shining in some brilliant throng—mine; of your looking at flowers in some old-world garden, our garden—there are splendid places to be got down in Surrey, and a little runabout motor is quite within my means. ‘This from a man who calls himself my friend. His hat was placed upon one pole, his wig on another. He turned to Ruth and McClintock.
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