Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. Suddenly he felt Ruth swing violently away from him, and he wheeled to learn the cause. " "No," thundered Wild. "Took a great fancy to you. Let's get one idea into our heads. "Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy. Anna sprang lightly away across the street.
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