” 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. He had plugged along, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy. "She's glorious!" He knew that he must hoodwink this keeneyed Scot, even as he must hoodwink everybody: publicly, the devoted husband; privately, the celibate. Burn your palette and your easel. I saw it this morning in the Daily Journal—an advertisement, offering a reward—" "A reward!" echoed Jack. He now understood her interest in Taber, as he called himself: habit, a twice-told tale.
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