An Old Fool

Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. She was
wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John
would not be home for several hours at least.

"I am delighted to see you, Mr. Ennison," she said, letting her
fingers rest in his. "Do come and cheer me up. I am bored to
distraction."

He took a seat by her side. He was looking pale and ill. There were
shadows under his eyes. He returned her impressive greeting almost
mechanically.

"But you yourself," she exclaimed, glancing into his face, "you too
look tired. You poor man, what have you been doing to yourself?"

"Nothing except travelling all night," he answered. "I am just back
from Paris. I am bothered. I have come to you for sympathy, perhaps
for help."

"You may be sure of the one," she murmured. "The other too if it is
within my power."

"It is within yours--if anybody's," he answered. "It is about your
sister, Lady Ferringhall."

Annabel gave a little gasp. The colour slowly left her cheeks, the
lines of her mouth hardened. The change in her face was not a pleasant
one.

"About my sister," she repeated slowly.

Her tone should have warned him, but he was too much in earnest to
regard it.

"Yes. You remember that you saw us at the Savoy a few evenings ago?"

"Yes."

"And you knew, of course, that we were old friends?"

"Indeed!"

"Lady Ferringhall, I love your sister."

"You what?" she repeated incredulously.