Her sense of humour could not wholly resist his abnormal gravity. Sheppard, vainly trying to discover a gleam of compassion in the thief-taker's inexorable countenance,—"Mercy! mercy!" "Pshaw!" rejoined Jonathan. When Sheila was in a bad mood, she berated her new foster daughter for streaks on the windows, dust on the figurines, for crooked bed sheet corners, and floors that had not been waxed properly. To settle things, you know. Then he got up and left her. He was painfully in earnest, too. Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. ‘Monsieur Charvill thought perhaps that his daughter would find not a welcome.
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