‘Very well, then. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. ” She made some inane response. ” “You have nothing to tell me?” “Nothing!” So Annabel departed with the slightest of farewells, wearing a thick travelling veil, and sitting far back in the corner of a closed carriage. She fell into another depression, refusing to touch Sebastian or call him husband when he demanded it. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. That is why I was so anxious to leave Paris. Yesterday!—who cared? To-morrow!—who knew? "Porpoise," she said, touching his hand.
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