" "What can be done for him?" cried Thames. I don’t care. . I want him as my friend. If he took a fancy to you, he invited you to the house for tea, bitter and yellow and served in little cups without handles. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. Never! Perhaps some day, quite soon, she might regret that breakfast-room. Wood. "There," cried Jackson, closing the book and rising, "that'll do. . \" He rose and departed. It amounted to two-and-twenty pounds.
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