Anna was sitting before the fire a little distance from him—Ennison himself remained standing. “Gods,” she said, at last, “I’ve done it this time!” “Well!” She took up the neat morocco purse, opened it, and examined the contents. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. “I might have muddled for a time. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. He has been a father to me and my child. Its heroes never had daughters, they borrowed other people’s. “If I were to marry now,” she said, “it would be with a sense of humiliation.
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