I must stay a minute longer, if only to see you smile. I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. Ennison, or any other young man. “There I can’t help,” said Capes. Anna, in her strange striking way, was radiantly beautiful. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. His throat filled; he wanted to weep. For I still love her mother. Yet there was nothing for her to do. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor.
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