She seemed to have recovered herself as he returned, but rose as if she would go back to the saloon. “Don’t we all rather humbug about the coarseness? All we women, I mean,” said she. And you’d better have her fetch in some food for the missie, an’ all. She asked the inevitable question, the one she knew Michelle was waiting to field like a quarterback anticipating the pass. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. Anna, with her marvellous capacity for enjoyment, ate cakes and laughed, and forgot that she had had tea an hour or so ago at an A.
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