Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. I was grateful. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. Now he thought she was so foolish that she knew only one stroke. "Well, Sir?" gasped Sir Rowland. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. " "The Dawn Pearl! Odd, but we white folks aren't half so poetical as the yellow or the black.
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