“It is you alone, Nigel, who have saved me from being an old maid. Ennison, if at all,” Anna declared calmly. ‘She wouldn’t tell me. It’s a lake among precipices, and there is a little inn where we can stay, and sit and eat our dinner at a pleasant table that looks upon the lake. Cheveney was another Paris friend, was he?” she asked. As she approached, the carpenter's wife eyed her from head to foot, in the hope of finding something in her person or apparel to quarrel with. The first set of occupations seemed to her to be altogether too domestic and restricted; for the latter she was dreadfully handicapped by her want of experience. Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book. If you want me, you know where to find me. Giles's.
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