"Release your prisoner," continued Wood, "or the window is opened. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. We always go out to dinner on holidays. But she had not reckoned with the etiquette of Canongate. I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. He was all alone, too. “Yes.
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