Her recent attitude towards him was undoubtedly a pose. “How did you find me?” She asked. She had denied it with vigor, and here she was! She did not so much exhaust this general question as pass from it to her insoluble individual problem again: “What am I to do?” She wanted first of all to fling the forty pounds back into Ramage’s face. All the same, I wish I had that fellow by the throat! Just the virile, unregenerate man in me wishes that. Why had she married him, off-hand, like that? She did not love him, or he knew nothing of love signs. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. His manner was deferential, even eager. “I am not sure,” Anna answered.
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