She realized that no man had ever placed a mantle of respect upon her as Sebastian did; respect for more than just her pretty face and her now lost ability to bear children. "Are you a poltroon, after all?" "That's it! I ought to have died that night!" "Or is there a taint of insanity in your family history? Alone and practically penniless like yourself! You weren't even stirred by gratitude. But he only went home again to Paddington. He leaned towards her, laid his hand tenderly upon hers. Wood," she continued, with a sudden change of tone, and convulsively clutching the carpenter's arm, "promise it me. The true creative mind is always returning to battle; defeats are only temporary setbacks. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. Do you know whoso portrait this is?" "I do not," replied Thames, repressing his tears, "but I believe it to be the portrait of my father.
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