He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. I was afraid of being talked about. He was always forgetting that his tummy was fifty-four years old. Yet her embarrassment was only a passing thing. "To be sure," returned Wild; "he's not only alive, but likely for life, if we don't clip the thread. Then he slapped his hand on his desk and looked up with the air of a man struck by a brilliant idea. His first inquiries were concerning the child, and he was delighted to find that it still lived and was doing well. And now, a fair exchange, Sir. Afterward he stole out of the room with the bloodstained sheet to boast her virginity to his brothers and father, which only truly mattered because she was beautiful, her mother had said. Her fingers closed upon it instinctively. "Dear me!" she added, as she pledged the amorous woollen-draper, "what a beautiful ring that is.
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