“How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way. " "Ah, I see. Yet you can look Cheveney in the face and declare that you do not know him. ‘Beg your pardon, ma’am, but she’s enough to try the patience of a saint. Um. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. “I will not have this slavery,” she said. I'm used to insult as I am to misfortune, and am grown callous to both; but I'm not used to compassion, and know not how to take it.
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