His wife met him at the door, and into her hands he delivered his little charge. He moaned. She stood there limply and did not act to resist him. Don't feel fussed upon my account. Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously. Manning in fancy costume, as though he was a doll. The way it had happened was stupid, absurd. Of course she had often heard sailors hammering out their ditties. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered. But, this sad affair disposed of, I will not rest till I have avenged my murdered parents. The ticket line filtered slowly into the glass doors, growing louder and more boisterous by the minute.
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