Mike knocked on the door. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. But he had shown no desire for information, no curiosity. Having no means of defence, Sir Rowland cleared the blood from his vision; and, turning to see whether there was any means of escape, he descried the open door behind him leading to the Well Hole, and instantly darted through it. ‘You do not like it?’ ‘That is hardly the point. A granddaughter of mine!’ The idiocy of this notion stuck in his craw and he could think of nothing else for a moment.
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