“Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. " "Why, my love," rejoined her husband, "appearances, you must allow, were a little against you. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. ” He took up his hat. They did not spend most days together.
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