“You surely don't mean to tell me that man proposes to marry you and take you to India?”
“Why, of course, dear,” meekly, and as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
Virginia looked at her in wonder. With Bush, she had always had her own way, he had denied her nothing. Virginia remembered her insistence; that she had never abandoned a purpose or desire until he yielded; and she mentally contrasted the handsome, easygoing fellow with this narrow-browed stranger from over the seas, and was moved to something very like pity for Anna.
“Why don't you leave little Stephen with me?” she at length asked.
“I thought you might like to have him; of course not for always,” she hastened to explain. “But the doctor says India is no place for children.”
“He is going to return there? You have not sought to dissuade him, to use your influence?”
“I haven't tried. It would be useless. He has started such a great work there among those dreadful pagans; he thinks I can be of such help to him in his labours.”
And Virginia saw that vanity, and probably a very real sense of loss, had worked this change in Anna; she also realized from the ready acceptance of the life the doctor had mapped out for her, something of the man's determination of character, a force that was all the stronger because of the narrow channels into which it had been directed by the chance that had determined his career.
“So I am to have little Stephen—poor little fellow!”
They were silent for a time and then Anna said, still in justification of her course.