” Annabel pulled down her veil to hide the tears. ‘Pen and paper, do you have them?’ ‘Danged if I have,’ came the truculent response. I suppose if one were to love some one, one would feel doubtful. And, yet, I don't know. "Perhaps," replied Wood, doubtfully. "Your voice seems familiar to me—and—but I'm getting a little deaf—and my eyes don't serve me quite so well as they used to do, especially by this light. On the one hand, she seemed to think plainly and simply, and would talk serenely and freely about topics that most women have been trained either to avoid or conceal; and on the other she was unconscious, or else she had an air of being unconscious—that was the riddle—to all sorts of personal applications that almost any girl or woman, one might have thought, would have made. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. ‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More. With trembling fingers she opened the post-bag. He stood before her.
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