Ennison himself, with the recollection of Annabel’s visit still fresh in his mind, was for a moment constrained and ill at ease. “Glaciers?” she said. In the hall below she could hear his firm voice giving quick commands to the servants. The big gray spaces of London, the shop-lit, greasy, shining streets, had become very remote; the biological laboratory with its work and emotions, the meetings and discussions, the rides in hansoms with Ramage, were like things in a book read and closed. She was unusually helpful at breakfast, and unselfish about the eggs: and then she went off to catch the train before her father’s.
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