It had been Ann Veronica’s lot as the youngest child to live in a home that became less animated and various as she grew up. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian. Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. Yet every now and then, during the progress of the meal, his attention apparently wandered, and leaning forward he glanced covertly at Anna with a curious mixture of expressions on his face. Wood had the advantage of her husband in point of years, being on the sunny side of forty,—a period pronounced by competent judges to be the most fascinating, and, at the same time, most critical epoch of woman's existence,—whereas, he was on the shady side of fifty,—a term of life not generally conceived to have any special recommendation in female eyes. ‘I think that was what began his downfall. Brendon was silent. Rubbishy novels and pernicious rascals. Had he not said as much at Remenham House? She allowed him to march her through the chapel without resistance.
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