Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. The warm September sun fell strongly on this part of the grounds, uninterrupted by trees, its light bouncing off the glass in the mansion’s walls. "You didn't spend it?" "I never intended to spend it—any more than I really intended to steal it. “Did he tell you, Annabel?” “Yes. I wonder ——” “London is a huge place,” Brendon said. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. ” “Very romantic.
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