He stood back, smiling with an air of proprietorship, and looking about him at the business-like equipment of the room. "Trenchard," he muttered; "Aliva Trenchard—they were right, then, as to the name. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being. “You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried. Terrific yells rent the air. She had thought to wear it now, since she must look more the demoiselle. . And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love.
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