She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. Why did he imagine she was making this journey to England? She feigned interest. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. “You ask me to be engaged to you, Mr. . Anna, with her marvellous capacity for enjoyment, ate cakes and laughed, and forgot that she had had tea an hour or so ago at an A. I really cannot have anything to do with Mr.
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