[Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Corporation. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. “Thank you, Martin,” she replied graciously. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. And while her son was reconveyed to prison the body of the unfortunate Mrs.
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