Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world. Which is also puzzling. Then making a pretence of stooping to rearrange her flowing train, she glanced at Anna, and half stopped in her progress down the room. She was very pale, and there was a look of fear in her eyes. Her prevailing effect was one of quiet and complete assurance, as though she knew all about everything, and was only restrained by her instinctive delicacy from telling what she knew. I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. Annabel looked up and down the empty street, and then turned to her sister.
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