. . Anna was more difficult. A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. Wood went on fuming, and the trio went on laughing for some minutes, nobody knew why or wherefore, until the party was increased by Mr. Her husband was prouder of her every day. Worse than any man. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. E. Her father intercepted her, and for a moment she and he struggled with their hands upon the latch. So strongly was he impressed with this idea, that grasping the iron bar with both hands, he dashed it furiously against the door, making the passage echo with the blows.
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