It was Annabel who spoke. He dined, and then pleaded a political engagement. "But to drag this innocent child into the muck! With her head full of book nonsense—love stories and fairy stories! Have you any idea of the tragedy she is bound to stumble upon some day? I don't care about you. Here, where every element of her surroundings was tawdry and commonplace, and before this young man of vulgar origin and appearance, it was striking. Walking to the station with him. She seemed to think he was merely the paymaster, handing over the means of her freedom. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. "I can't say," answered the fellow; "but I'll inquire from the sexton, William Morgan. That would come later.
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