Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. Nice, of course. She cleaned everything, wiped every surface, mopped and scrubbed every last drop of blood. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation. Yes, yes; that was all very well in ordinary cases; but yonder was a soul in travail, if ever she had seen one. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times.
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