Annabel was conscious then of the slow anger which had been burning within her since the night of her visit to the “Unusual. “Ye Gods!” she said at last. “Have to take your turn,” he remarked laconically. It was as though he were personally aggrieved. Bordered by fine timber, the road occasionally offered glimpses of a lovely valley, until a wider opening gave a full view of a delightful and varied prospect. He was braver than her husband, who paced and cowered in the corners of the once-sunny Palazzo. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. He seemed to her indistinguishably about her father’s age.
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