What was yet more worthy of note was, that the widow's countenance had an air of refinement about it, of which it was utterly destitute before, and which seemed to intimate that her true position in society was far above that wherein accident had placed her. “But what can one do?” asked Ann Veronica. While he was meditating flight in this way, and tossing about on the straw, he chanced upon an old broken and rusty fork. But at the word “home” she turned again. She was nearly too giddy still to answer him. Anna sat quite still for a moment, and then the colour suddenly returned to her cheeks. “So you’re the one my son has been talking about.
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