What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman. “Annabel! Why, what on earth have you been doing to yourself, child?” she exclaimed. " "Where—where?" cried Thames. She wanted to return his gaze but focused intently on a spot next to and above the brick fireplace, as her music teachers had always taught her to do instead of looking directly at the audience. Thankfully, he seemed pleased the moment he saw her face, which her mother had made her wash for weeks with the pulp of apples, orange water, and 21 extract of borage among other things. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye.
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