END OF THE SECOND EPOCH. “But I still think of my old foster brothers and sisters. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. She had been obliged to wait all morning for the opportunity to talk to Martha, who chose always to retire to her cell for the period of recreation that preceded afternoon prayers. He became angry. Mere hangers on. As he returned to the table, he put his finger to his nose; and, though he said nothing, he thought he had a much better chance of winning his wager. He smothered a laugh. The uncanny directness of those gray eyes, the absence of diffidence, the beauty of the face in profile (full, it seemed a little too broad to make for perfect beauty), the mellow voice that came full and free, without hesitance, all combined to mark her as the most unusual young woman he had ever met. But at the same time, I must say plainly that I think your presence here just now would be a great misfortune. I am something of an old fogey, Anna, I’m afraid, but if you treat me like this you will teach me to forget it. “Much as I hate rows, I’ve either got to make a stand or give in altogether.
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