"What for?" demanded Wood. 'It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. She sought hastily in her mind for a plausible answer to an obvious question that didn’t come. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own.
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