"Do they treat you ill?" asked her son. Smith, "upon my conscience. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. Even as a child she observed how men were haunted 18 by the presence of her mother. Not us. We don’t consider each other; we needn’t. It would put the whole adventure on a broader and better footing; it seemed, indeed, almost the only possible way in which she might emerge from her rebellion with anything like success. Their expression was so amiable, that it would have redeemed a countenance a thousand times plainer than hers.
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