Chapter IX BRENDON’S LUCK Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. Was she a fool to wish a person of a disposition altogether not pleasing to marry her? Was it not true that he made a game with her very often? Had he not been extremely interfering from the beginning? And had he not kissed her, just when— Her thoughts skidded to a stop. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. But for him she might have been alive and happy. You don’t know. Are you doing okay in that shirt? You seem uncomfortable. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. After Capes had finished the Scotchman’s troubles he went back into the preparation-room.
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