Headvancedafewsteps，andstopped。Absorbedinherself，Annefailedtohearhim。Shenevermoved。
“Ihavecome，asyoumadeapointofit，“hesaid，sullenly。
“But，mindyou，itisn’tsafe。“
Atthesoundofhisvoice，Anneturnedtowardhim。Achangeofexpressionappearedinherface，assheslowlyadvancedfromthebackofthesummer-house，whichrevealedalikenesstohermother，notperceivableatothertimes。Asthemotherhadlooked，inby-gonedays，atthemanwhohaddisownedher，sothedaughterlookedatGeoffreyDelamayn——withthesameterriblecomposure，andthesameterriblecontempt。
“Well？“heasked。“Whathaveyougottosaytome？“