Don't unman him. He did not speak for a moment. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better. I do not think you quite understand my ideals or what is becoming as between father and daughter. It was equally as beautiful but not quite so fine as the daughter's. Pragmar, the wholesale druggist, who lived three gardens away, and who had been mowing his lawn to get an appetite for dinner, standing in a fascinated attitude beside the forgotten lawn-mower and watching her intently.
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