As he hesitated, unable to make up his mind what to do for the best, a heavy rumbling on the cobbles penetrated his absorption. Too damned chickenhearted to confess to me he’d run off with the woman. He took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam. Hers was beauty on a large scale no doubt; but it was beauty, nevertheless: and the carpenter thought her eyes as bright, her complexion as blooming, and her figure (if a little more buxom) quite as captivating as when he led her to the altar some twenty years ago. But she had found it very difficult. Anna sat quite still for a moment, and then the colour suddenly returned to her cheeks. One has to be so careful. “Sir John is a man of the world,” her aunt answered coldly.
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