“I suppose,” said her father, “I have read at least half the novels that have been at all successful during the last twenty years. ” A spot of colour flared in Anna’s cheek as she glanced towards the speaker. He had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders—athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon. But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. Anyhow, there was some pleasurable satisfaction in knowing where the quarry would be for the next three weeks. It was time to leave America.
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