‘That little kiss cost him his sanctuary, my girl, and don’t you forget it. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. He seemed wholly insensible to the rain, though it presently descended in torrents, and continued his search as ardently as before.
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