For as he leaned complacently back in his seat, anger against him flamed suddenly hot in her.

Occupied by his story, she had ceased to take stock of the story-teller.

Now that he had ended, she looked him over from head to foot.

An obstinate stupidity was the mark of the man to her eye.

How dare he sit in judgment upon the meanest of his fellows, let alone Harry Feversham?
she asked, and in the same moment recollected that she herself had endorsed his judgment.