It seemed intolerable that she should go home and admit herself beaten. “A glass slipped from the table,” he explained. So he made merry at the dinner table, told comic stories, and was astonished at the readiness with which she grasped the comic side of life. He wanted to know what the joke against him was—if any. “Politics!” Ennison answered grimly. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. "Will he live?" asked Ruth. She forbade him to escape to his workshop in the basement during those times, denying him his one and only hobby.
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