“For better or worse. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. It was easy to discern Gianfrancesco’s mood. "Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. At the same time he comprehended that she was as pure and lovely as the white orchid of Borneo and that she did not carry that ridiculous shield called false modesty. She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. Miss Stanley had determined from the outset to have the warmest affection for her youngest niece and to be a second mother in her life—a second and a better one; but she had found much to battle with, and there was much in herself that Ann Veronica failed to understand. She was to be handed over with her dowry of three thousand Florins, plus her pet bird, six chickens, her mother’s fine linens, a small book of poetry. He opened the drawer of the writing table.
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