He glanced up at her, his face wet, yet apparently not shamed by the tears. She could not meet his gaze without herself crying, and so she turned her head. 'I was only thinking,' he stammered, 'only thinking—what an angel you are.'
Only the meek, the timid, the silent, can, in moments of deep feeling, use this language of hyperbole without seeming ridiculous.
He was her great child, and she knew that he worshipped her. Oh, ineffable power, that out of misfortune canst create divine happiness!
Later, he remarked in his ordinary tone: 'I was expecting your father here this afternoon about the lease. There is to be a deed of arrangement with the creditors.'
'My father!' she exclaimed, and she bade him good-bye.
As she passed under the archway she heard a familiar voice: 'I reckon I shall find young Mester Price in th' office?' Ephraim, who had wandered into the packing-house, turned and saw her through the doorway; a second's delay, and she would have escaped. She stood waiting the storm, and then they walked out into the road together.
'Anna, what art doing here?'
She did not know what to say.
'What art doing here?' he repeated coldly.
'Father, I—was just going back home.'