And she would have to go tomorrow. I must practise what I preach. “Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. At last, she breathed. It was not without considerable demur and delay on the part of Sharples that the carpenter and his companion could gain admittance to the round-house. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend.
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