Anna saw it, and for the first time found herself trembling. “It’s like this,” he said, and dragged a stool beside her and sat down with his elbow four inches from hers and made a sketch. Husband of mine, I think we have rather overrated the emotional capacity of those—those dears. ” She felt his heart warming the small room like a radiator. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice. “There’s another instinct, too,” he went on, “in a state of suppression, unless I’m very much mistaken; a child-expelling instinct. Anna was singing as she used to sing.
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