I consented. His lawful wife; but nothing more; beyond that she was only an idea, a trust. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. It is really cheap, you know.
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