“Fearful old fogey! I can’t imagine any sister of yours putting up with him for a moment. Annabel set her teeth hard, and turned fiercely towards Anna. Haven’t I ever told you about them?” Michelle asked. Later that night, after she had cleaned herself and changed her clothes, he returned. Above the housetops it was different. There was a short, red-faced, resolute youth who inherited an authoritative attitude upon bacteriology from his father; a Japanese student of unassuming manners who drew beautifully and had an imperfect knowledge of English; and a dark, unwashed Scotchman with complicated spectacles, who would come every morning as a sort of volunteer supplementary demonstrator, look very closely at her work and her, tell her that her dissections were “fairish,” or “very fairish indeed,” or “high above the normal female standard,” hover as if for some outbreak of passionate gratitude and with admiring retrospects that made the facetted spectacles gleam like diamonds, return to his own place.
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