He looked at her reproachfully. ” “You are sure that he asked for me—not for Annabel?” “Certain,” Courtlaw answered. . With a finger crooked in his side-pocket, she measured her step with his, her senses still dizzy from the echo of the magic sounds. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. “Nor am I going to,” she answered, smiling. “Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely. . She was inclined to think that perhaps for a girl the converse of his method was the case; an older man, a man beyond the range of anything “nonsensical,” was, perhaps, the most interesting sort of friend one could meet. Not that it would make any difference if he was alive still.
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