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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. “I have loved you,” he was saying, “ever since you sat on that gate and talked. Women are hypocrites to the last—true only to themselves. Thankfully, he seemed pleased the moment he saw her face, which her mother had made her wash for weeks with the pulp of apples, orange water, and 21 extract of borage among other things. Annabel ignored both the chair and the invitation. The younger of the two, who was seated next to Jack, and seemed to monopolize his attention, could not be more than seventeen, though her person had all the maturity of twenty. If he wished, he could even take this inheritance from her. You are the woman I love, Anna. “So that’s the way it is. However, I daresay that we shall come across one another before long. He was not a sailor.
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