A sprinkling of callow youths, and a couple of pronounced young Jews, who were talking loudly together in some unintelligible jargon of the City. \" Lucy replied sardonically. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. I never realized how fabulous all those homemade dishes were. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. Such ambitions as he had were stereotyped and material. She felt terribly modern, even sporty as the magazines declared you should be. He dared not go on. “You are so sweet, Lucy. .
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