Her father and her husband, who had both been a little pale at their first encounter, were growing now just faintly flushed. Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear. She watched her friend rise and go towards her affianced husband, a look of mischief in her face. ’ She gave him a straight look. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. If he decided to watch television upstairs with his mother, she would probably retire before he did, but she was a light sleeper.
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