She fidgeted and looked away. Selfishness. The little streaks upon the germinating area of an egg, the nervous movements of an impatient horse, the trick of a calculating boy, the senses of a fish, the fungus at the root of a garden flower, and the slime upon a sea-wet rock—ten thousand such things bear their witness and are illuminated. Then they appear among the lower things”—she made meticulous gestures to figure the scale of life; she seemed to be holding up specimens, and peering through her glasses at them —“among crustaceans and things, just as little creatures, ever so inferior to the females. On the left lay the heights of Hampstead, studded with villas, while farther off a hazy cloud marked the position of the metropolis. There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears. “Annabel! God in Heaven, it is Annabel!” She did not speak. The glance, which he threw at the door, was singularly expressive of his character: it was a mixture of alarm, effrontery, and resolution.
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