"Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried. “Your mother was a Gypsy. My mind is full of ideas and images that I have been cherishing and accumulating—dreams of travelling side by side, of lunching quietly together in some jolly restaurant, of moonlight and music and all that side of life, of seeing you dressed like a queen and shining in some brilliant throng—mine; of your looking at flowers in some old-world garden, our garden—there are splendid places to be got down in Surrey, and a little runabout motor is quite within my means. Though it’s very kind of you. “You had only to ask——” “Do you think,” Anna interrupted, with a note of passion trembling also in her tone, “that I would have taken alms from Sir John, the man to whom I had lied for your sake. And―and he wanted to help you. . She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair. She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself.
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