Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. Nothing ensued. Anna came back into the sitting-room with a little sigh of relief. "What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. "But there's nothing more to see in Canton. The chair is in the veranda. In mid-bite, she heard a car door slam that was recognizable.
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