Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. It was Ennison who for the rest of his visit was quiet and subdued. In the discussion there was the oddest mixture of things that were personal and petty with an idealist devotion that was fine beyond dispute. “You know I’m old-fashioned, Miss Stanley. Annabel was in hiding all the time. ‘If you had met her, you’d understand. There was a young lad ahead of her. By this action, Lucy already knew what the answer was. Long ago. This lady was singularly lucky in her matrimonial connections.
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