Wood, sinking into a chair, and fanning herself violently,—"what a fluster you have put me into with your violence, to be sure! And at the very time, too, when you know I'm expecting a visit from Mr. ’ Then all at once remembrance made her smile. ‘Lucky I have you to keep me from Bedlam, then. 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. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. Never mind. "What for?" demanded Wood. . He rose slowly and extended it. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. Spurlock looked up.
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