He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. Wood, Sir," he added, with much emotion, "is one of the best of men, and would be the happiest, were it not that—" and he hesitated. For I still love her mother. Well, let him be honest. I hated him. This moment couldn’t be better until the next moment comes. She was nestled under his bedspread. That is not reasonable. Anna opened a cupboard and produced cups and saucers and a tin of coffee.
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