He cupped her small hands in the bowl of his large ones and reassured her in the kindest manner, saying, “You will have the finest life that Florence has to offer. I always wondered why he bought my mother's pearls so readily. Please to release me. Run along now; but return in half an hour. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. ’—he’s frightfully anti-Mendelian—having it all their own way. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. I am your husband, though as yet your hand has scarcely lain in mine.
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