He could not know about the Remenham connection, could he? No one knew but her father and Martha. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. Something about the girl had suggested an idea. Without Sheila, the denizens of the neighborhood might forget they had the ability to communicate with each other. Charcoal. Meanwhile, the excitement of the chase had in some degree subsided. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. One OUGHT to want to please her.
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