’ ‘But I can’t leave you, miss. And if you mean that he may have reconciled himself with his own father, you waste your breath. I was compelled to run away. O'Higgins was all that the doctor had imagined a detective to be: a bulky policeman in civilian clothes. “I hope,” Annabel answered lazily, “that you have succeeded. The uncanny directness of those gray eyes, the absence of diffidence, the beauty of the face in profile (full, it seemed a little too broad to make for perfect beauty), the mellow voice that came full and free, without hesitance, all combined to mark her as the most unusual young woman he had ever met. You've saved my life. She had no idea what she should do. You are to remain here until you are well. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music.
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