It’s just to feel—one owns one’s self. Every care had been taken of it, as well as of himself, by the humane inmates of the house in which he had sought shelter. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. She had never been able to discover where her father had hidden his shaving mirror. But was it Faith? That is what she was this day going to find out. After all, his was a pleasant face, and a pleasant voice, and very likely Annabel had behaved badly.
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