“Please let me drive you home. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. I am an old friend, and I declined to be shelved. A robbery has been committed, and your master suspects this lad as an accessory to the offence. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. Annabel seated herself in an easy chair and determined to wait for her sister’s return. “I brought a man with me who is posted outside,” he remarked.
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