She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. She had black hair, fine eyebrows, and a clear complexion; and the forces that had modelled her features had loved and lingered at their work and made them subtle and fine. It struck the major that she was very young. “You were married to him!” “It could not be legal,” Annabel moaned. Nothing is of any concern of ours except the discovery of the man’s identity. “No!” Her thoughts had turned in a new direction. What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required.
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