and in the stiff folds of her black silk gown. Her brown eyes rested affectionately on Howard. She adored her daughter's fiancé.
"Don't leave us," begged Helen. But the mother had already gone.
Presently a maid appeared with a tray. She was tall and thin. A becoming cap rested on her brown hair. It was Annabel—Annabel, subdued by two years of training into a most unnatural silence. She skilfully arranged the table, then disappeared.
It was a silver service. Cups and saucers, cream jug and sugar holder had been brought long ago by an ancestress from England. Helen toyed with the cups, then slowly made the tea.
"Tell me about Mrs. Kent—and Anne," she said.
"They've gone to live in a remarkable apartment," Howard responded briskly. "Page; reception-room downstairs; dining-room in the suite. They have their dinners sent up through hot tubes, or
