“And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. For all that, it is folly. “You doubted me?” She joked. Yet every now and then, during the progress of the meal, his attention apparently wandered, and leaning forward he glanced covertly at Anna with a curious mixture of expressions on his face. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. It never is. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. “Perhaps, as I’ve only just arrived,” she remarked, “I might be forgiven if I do not change my skirt.
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