She wanted to think. Anna merely glanced at the coarse, flushed features, and at once shook her head. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. She tiptoed into the entryway where some decorator had placed a live orchid upon a glassy ebony table. "Marry, come up! Mightn't he just as reasonably complain of your being a Hanoverian and a Presbyterian? It's all matter of opinion. He deserves none. Would it be Thérèse?’ She shook her head. " "Sir Rowland is my brother," resumed Lady Trafford coldly.
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