And in this fact lay his danger. “The adventures I do not doubt, Annabel,” she said. The life of a girl presented itself to her as something happy and heedless and unthinking, yet really guided and controlled by others, and going on amidst unsuspected screens and concealments. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. She is chosen to learn magic. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear. “Now I should like to know,” she said, looking at him with a quiet smile, “what you are doing here? It is not a particularly inspiring neighbourhood for walking about by yourself. I wish I could get you to imitate Thames Darrell.
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