Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. I knew where I would go next: Florence. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. "Well, my pretty dears," he added, "—to see your husband, eh? You must make the most of your time. He saw it in book-covers, on the stage. " "He may learn how to defeat yours," replied Jack. Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear.
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