Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. Chapter XVII THE CHANGE IN “ALCIDE” “By-the-bye,” his neighbour asked him languidly, “who is our hostess?” “Usually known, I believe, as Lady Ferringhall,” Ennison answered, “unless I have mixed up my engagement list and come to the wrong house. But still she knew they were not right, and at times they became a horrible obsession as of something waiting for her round the corner. ‘Kimble, you shouldn’t be here. Montague Hill. Luckily, she was bereft of consciousness, and was thus spared the additional misery of witnessing what afterwards befell him. “Not at all. I wonder whether you would mind, Lady Ferringhall,” he went on, with a sudden glance at her, “if I tell you that you yourself remind me a great deal more of what she was like then, except of course that your complexion and colouring are altogether different. At the back of her mind, Melusine noted an odd look in the boy’s face, but there was no time to explore it. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. And so she came upon the word Love.
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