But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. “How crude you are, Anna!” she exclaimed with a little sigh. Miss Mary to the life. "Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. Her defence ceased rapidly to be in any sense ladylike, and became vigorous and effective; a strand of black hair that had escaped its hairpins came athwart Ramage’s eyes, and then the knuckles of a small but very hardly clinched fist had thrust itself with extreme effectiveness and painfulness under his jawbone and ear.
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