She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights. There was already a score or more of people there, some standing up and talking together, others seated in chairs ranged along the wall. Michelle looked like she was about to throw up herself. “I won’t have you quarrelling and crying in the Avenue,” he said. Don't be afraid, man,—off with it. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation.
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