Kneebone made no effort to check the unreasonable merriment of his companions, but rather seemed to encourage it. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. And in those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and hover about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to the scullery wall. “The young lady, I presume, told you that her name was Anna,” he remarked. She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride. He was a tall man and fair, with bluish eyes that were rather protuberant, and long white hands of which he made a display.
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