Sebastianus claimed to have met her back in Mantua after the betrothal. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. “I think we have,” he answered, gravely, and took her in his arms, and smoothed her hair from her forehead, and very tenderly kissed her lips. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. To witness this girl sewing on a loose button, flopping the coat about on her knees, tickled his ironic sense of humour; and laughter bubbled into his throat. Jesus! They just wouldn’t let up about you after you played the violin for them. I’m a little tired.
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