“It is very good of you to come and see me, my dear sister,” Annabel remarked, throwing herself into a low chair, and clasping her hands over her head. “Who are you?” She asked innocently. A lesson learned. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. “For one thing I am going to marry David Courtlaw.
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