"There's an old proverb," continued Wood, rising and walking towards the fire, "which says,—'Put another man's child in your bosom, and he'll creep out at your elbow. He disappeared into its thick doors like a magician’s rabbit. She was very pale, and there was a look of fear in her eyes. Despite him, it was the beauty that she had inherited from her mother they had used to gain the betrothal, and it had not been easy. It brought no coconut. Her figure was perfect,—tall, graceful, rounded,—and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. If I had never met anything of you at all but a scrap of your skin binding a book, Ann Veronica, I know I would have kept that somewhere near to me. ‘But then again, possibly not.
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