’ ‘Then you’re mad,’ Roding said flatly, and suddenly grinned. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. “You remember our first meeting?” “Yes,” he answered hoarsely. It added to the picturesqueness of the Sha-mien night to observe these gaily coloured lanterns dancing hither and yon like June fireflies in a meadow. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. He laughed lightly. It’s that father of yours you take after, no question. She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything.
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