She threw herself into an easy chair. She was unusually pale, and her
eyes were brilliant. Never had she seemed to him so much like Anna.
"You needn't be worried," she said quietly. "The conventions do not
matter one little bit. You will agree with me when you have heard what
I have to say. For me that is all over and done with."
"Lady Ferringhall! Anna!" he exclaimed.
She fixed her brilliant eyes upon him.
"Suppose you call me by my proper name," she said quietly. "Call me
Annabel."
He started back as though he had been shot.
"Annabel?" he exclaimed. "That is your sister's name."
"No, mine."
It came upon him like a flash. Innumerable little puzzles were
instantly solved. He could only wonder that this amazing thing had
remained so long a secret to him. He remembered little whispered
speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he
loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago.
Nevertheless it was overwhelming.
"But your hair," he gasped.
"Dyed!"
"And your figure?"
"One's _corsetiere_ arranges that. My friend, I am only grieved that
you of all others should have been so deceived. I have seen you with
Anna, and I have not known whether to be glad or sorry. I have been in
torment all the while to know whether it was to Anna or to Annabel
that you were making love so charmingly. Nigel, do you know that I
have been very jealous?"
He avoided the invitation of her eyes. He was indeed still in the
throes of his bewilderment.
"But Sir John?" he exclaimed. "What made you marry him? What made you
leave Paris without a word to any one? What made you and your sister
exchange identities?"
"There is one answer to all those questions, Nigel," she said, with a
nervous little shudder. "It is a hateful story. Come close to me, and
let me hold your hand, dear. I am a little afraid."
There was a strange look in her face, the look of a frightened child.
Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. He
stood by her side, and he suffered her hands to rest in his.
"You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about--Meysey
Hill they called him?"
He nodded.
"Miserable bounder," he murmured. "Turned out to be an impostor, too."
"He imposed on me," Annabel continued. "I believed that he was the
great multi-millionaire. He worried me to marry him. I let him take me
to the English Embassy, and we went through some sort of a ceremony. I
thought it would be magnificent to have a great house in Paris, and
more money than any other woman. Afterwards we started for _dejeuner_
in a motor. On the way he confessed. He was not Meysey Hill, but an
Englishman of business, and he had only a small income. Every one took
him for the millionaire, and he had lost his head about me. I--well, I
lost my temper. I struck him across the face, twisted the steering
wheel of the motor, sprang out myself, and left him for dead on the
road with the motor on top of him. This is the first act."