Mr. Flood’s glance felt its way over her, hatefully. It never lifted to her face.
“Of course from your point of view, dear lady——” he began, and smiled as he made his little bow of attention.
I thought him insolent, and so, I believe, did Miss Howe. She lifted her head sharply and I thought she would have spoken; but Anita gave her no time. There was always a sort of thick-skinned valiance about Anita.
“Oh, but you all know my point of view. She knew it herself. I never concealed it. You know how I devoted myself——”
“A bye-word, a bye-word!” said Miss Howe under her breath.
“—but not so much to her as to her gift. I should never allow a personal sentiment to overpower me. I haven’t the time for it. But she had the call, she had the gift, and because she had it I say, as I have always said, that for Madala Grey, marriage——”
“And all it implies——” Mr. Flood was still smiling.
She accepted it.
“Marriage and all that it implies was apostasy. I stand for Literature.”
“And Literature,” with a glance at the others, “is honoured.”