Wood had retired to his own room, where he had just summoned Thames. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. Fame of any sort was folly and she knew better. And, mind! no prevaricating—nothing but the truth will satisfy me.
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