“What’s odd?” “Oh, everything!” She shivered, and went to the fire and poked it. “There is something which I must say to you. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. “On or about the day you receive this letter, Anna, the six months will be up. It’s gone. Beneath the hood it was evident that her rebellious hair was bound up with red silk, and fastened by some device in her ears (unless she had them pierced, which was too dreadful a thing to suppose!) were long brass filigree earrings. I’m fine. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered.
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