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Pigott was no believer in female celibacy, and Angela's future was a frequent subject of meditation with her, for she knew very well that her present mode of life was scarcely suited either to her birth, her beauty, or her capabilities.
Angela's eyes filled with tears as they rested on her friend's kindly face, a face usually so brilliant in its animated expression, but now saddened and worn by constant watching and fatigue. "You are far too good to me," she said in a low voice "And I am most unworthy of all your attention." Loyse D'Agramont paid no heed to this remark, but resumed reading the Prince Sovrani's epistle
The little mole on Sister Angela's nose the slightly drooping eyelid that marred the Reverend Mother's left cheek the nasal twang of the orphans' singing Father Bowles pouncing on a fly Father Leadham's stately ways she made a mock or an offence out of them all, bitterly chattering and drawing pictures with herself, like a child with a grievance.
Vaguely he was beginning to see that the world was immense and subtle, and that there were many things to learn about women that he had never dreamed of. Christina Channing was a rival of Angela's in one sense, that of bodily beauty.
To his infinite surprise and mortification, she refused his offer of marriage most decidedly. Angela's departure from Netherglen had already taken place. Hugo was not sorry that she was gone. Her gentle words and ways were a restraint upon him: he felt obliged to command himself in her presence. And self-command was becoming more and more a difficult task.
It might have been a skinned rabbit, but Eugene's horrified eyes realized that it was his child Angela's child the thing all this horrible struggle and suffering was about. It was discolored, impossible, a myth, a monster. He could scarcely believe his eyes, and yet the doctor was striking it on the back with his hand, looking at it curiously.
With the most extravagant irony he described to me what a strange life of worry and torture Angela led him as soon as she became his wife. Krespel was of opinion that more capriciousness and waywardness were concentrated in Angela's little person than in all the rest of the prima donnas in the world put together.
"Will you wait one moment?" he suddenly asked. "I'll go to the rocks yonder and call her," and then, almost as suddenly, the voice was again uplifted in the same weird, barbaric song, and the singer had gone from the depths of the opposite thicket and was somewhere farther up stream, still hidden from their gaze still, possibly, ignorant of Angela's presence.
She's taken a fancy to you, and she's independent enough, I should hope, to invite any girl she likes, if the girl is poor and lives out of the way," was Martha's cool reply. Liked her! Taken a fancy to her! How Angela's heart jumped at this suggestion!
"Oh, I I don't think I had better come in, thank you. I didn't mean to do that. I have to go all the way home, and it will take me rather a long time. I I only brought a fresh egg that Angela's hen laid this morning, and some parsley out of my own garden for for Miss Leperier, and perhaps if she didn't like it she might give it to your wife. I am sorry I had nothing nicer."
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