I want to love him. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. He put down his hat and umbrella, rested his hands on his hips, and regarded Ann Veronica firmly. She knew Martha would not ask anything that she did not wish to know. There came to Spurlock the recurrence of the grim resolution of what he had set out to do: that comradeship was all he might ever give this exquisite creature; for she was exquisite, and in a way she dominated this picture of sea and sky and sail. “It isn’t a joke,” she said. “I do not like to seem inhospitable, Anna,” she said hesitatingly. We had such a pride in you, such hope in you.
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