A creeping numbness invaded her. “More than that, he arrived to-day at the boarding-house where I am staying, greeted me with a theatrical start, and claimed me—as his wife. These sisters moved in a grown-up world inaccessible to Ann Veronica’s sympathies, and to a large extent remote from her curiosity. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. Not a moment is to be lost. Spurling and Marvel. You poor man, what have you been doing to yourself?” “Nothing except travelling all night,” he answered. The door opened, and a slightly overweight pretty blonde, an older, wiser version of Michelle, came into view. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword.
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