See how he gets on, father," he added, appealing to Wood: "the box seems to grow under his hands. And then her pace slackened. A note of belligerency had crept into his tone. Her grave fine face, her warm clear complexion, had already aroused his curiosity as he had gone to and fro in Morningside Park, and here suddenly he was near to her and talking freely and intimately. “That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park. Little by little, she stopped hating him.
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