“How CAN I tell him?” whispered Miss Stanley. She had adored the stupid thing, and kept it in her pocket for about ten years. Her hair got loose, her hat came over one eye, and she had no arm free to replace it. Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. ‘She?’ ‘Damnation!’ He saw her frown, and added at once, ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. All that he had sown that afternoon with such infinite care was as nothing compared to this seed, cast without forethought. ’ ‘Yes,’ she agreed, but her manner was a degree less warm.
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