‘Well?’ he uttered between heavy breaths. But although startled and clearly afraid, there was no self-consciousness in her gaze and she was standing her ground. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Very slowly, very fearfully, she turned her head. The man’s as obstinate as a mule. The Supper at Mr. “You must do more than think of it,” he urged. What she had termed illuminative now appeared to be only another phase of the mystery which enveloped the child. “A very clear statement, madam,” he said.
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