Daughters were not like sons. Wood glanced at the hardy offender, and not liking the expression of his countenance, thought it advisable to postpone the execution of his threats to a more favourable opportunity. “It is rather odd,” he said, “but I always thought that your name was Annabel and hers Anna. Her brown curls were pulled tight in a severe chignon. ‘And I am delighted to see that you are ready to admit that the Charvills—or rather the Valades—are indeed your affair. Wood, ironically; "but I used to think it required something more than mere words to prove that a person's character was abused.
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