The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. Anna sat quite still for a moment, and then the colour suddenly returned to her cheeks. When they made love, he seemed to shift into the realm of possessiveness. Heaven knows why! They don’t marry most of us off now until high up in the twenties. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching.
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