” Chapter XXXII SIX MONTHS AFTER Up the moss-grown path, where the rose bushes run wild, almost met, came Anna in a spotless white gown, with the flush of her early morning walk in her cheeks, and something of the brightness of it in her eyes. Rowland's purposes were, however, defeated in a manner as unexpected as appalling. ’ ‘Tchah!’ He glared at her. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. His hand went with an almost instinctive inquiry to his jawbone again.
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