A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. It was a spring-tide at half ebb; and the current, which was running fast and furiously, bore him instantly away. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. Michelle looked at Lucy's feet, still in the ugly brown loafers she had worn since last year. "My little Hoddy! You used to love me; and I have always loved you. “I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you.
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