Tell him the truth, Annabel. Part 5 The next morning she waited in the laboratory at the lunch-hour in the reasonable certainty that he would come to her. What sort of proof? There are no papers at Remenham House. "In Heaven's name! what's all this?" cried Wood. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe.
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