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” Annabel had been lying curled up on the lounge, the personification of graceful animal ease. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. I think that I am very fortunate to have it to sign. ’ All at once Mrs Sindlesham looked across at him, a sharp question in her eyes. Light the lantern. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo.
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