“You know,” he muttered, “you know quite well that your troubles are far more likely to weigh upon me than my own. Almost had Martha won out. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you. But one day he came to me. ‘Will that be all, ma’am?’ ‘Yes, yes. ” “If your business with me is of any importance,” Anna said calmly, “it does not matter in the least about the hour. ‘Think I’m fool enough to do my business in a convent?’ he said scornfully. She addressed Anna with a beaming smile and a very creditable mixture of condescension and officiousness. Two souls in travail; one inspired by fresh hopes, the other, by fresh despairs.
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