“You must tell me the truth, please. You have been going out every morning, and coming home late—tired out—too tired to come down to dinner. Capes was irritatingly judicial in the matter, neither absurdly against, in which case one might have smashed him, or hopelessly undecided, but tepidly sceptical. Then the dagger’s point came in a whirling arc towards his face. But here was new music, tender and kindly and whimsical, that first roved to and fro in the mind and then cuddled up in the heart. “Anna!” he exclaimed hoarsely. One of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features. ‘What is it?’ ‘Er—shouldn’t I tell—I mean, the young lady, sir—’ ‘You can leave the young lady to me. I too, Anna, have watched and read of your success with—I must confess it—some misgiving. And if you treat me in this way, you will have my death to answer for, as well as the deaths of my husband and child.
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