It gave her joy to see them laughing, even though she was unsure of what she had done wrong. I am something of an old fogey, Anna, I’m afraid, but if you treat me like this you will teach me to forget it. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. But me, I am going to England. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. “You do not even know what you are talking about.
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