He was not a sailor. This getting up at dawn—real dawn—and working until seven was a distinct novelty. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. His hands came up, his face broke apart. Kentish family. It cuts. ’ He closed the panel and came slowly out of the little dressing-room, Roding at his heels. Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. Thrilling, she began to dance, swirled, glided, and dipped. He had seldom been more perturbed.
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