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. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. It was the same Bios whose nature and drift and ways and methods and aspects engaged them all. It was not the arrival of the guests, but merely the maid moving about in the hall. He would take with him that traitress Yolande, and claim to the lawyer that this was Melusine Charvill.
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