Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. “I suppose I ought to congratulate you,” he said. When Captain Darrell's birth is ascertained, I've no doubt he'll turn out a nobleman's son. 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. Far away there was the one woman for this boy of mine—some human being who would understand the dear fool better than all the rest of the world. . Lady Angela shrugged her shoulders.
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