Annabel saw it, and suddenly changed her tone. "You are my prisoner, Jack. Ann Veronica had come down thinking of nothing in the world but her inflexible resolution to go to the dance in the teeth of all opposition. ‘You do not believe me?’ ‘I do not. She felt she had to go on. Wood," she continued, in an authoritative tone, seeing her husband ready to depart, "one word before you set out. "I am accounted a fair shot, as well as a tolerable swordsman, and I will give proof of my skill in both lines, should occasion require it. She felt that there was a hidden meaning under his words. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. It was all highly intriguing.
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