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. He sat before a desk littered all over with papers and official looking documents. She was feeling extraordinarily well that night, so that the sense of her body was a deep delight, a realization of a gentle warmth and strength and elastic firmness. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain. "He has passed this way," cried Jonathan, exultingly; "I have him safe enough.
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