He appeared at the Marsh one Sunday morning: a rather long, thin youth with a bright face and a curious self-possession among his shyness, a native unawareness of what other people might be, since he was himself. When Anna came downstairs in her Sunday clothes, ready for church, he rose and greeted her conventionally, shaking hands. His manners were better than hers. She flushed. She noticed that he now had a thick fledge on his upper lip, a black, finely-shapen line marking his wide mouth. It rather repelled her. It reminded her of the thin, fine fur of his hair. She was aware of something strange in him. His voice had rather high upper notes, and very resonant middle notes. It was queer. She wondered why he did it. But he sat very naturally in the Marsh living-room. He had some uncouthness, some natural self-possession of the Brangwens, that made him at home there. Anna was rather troubled by the strangely intimate, affectionate way her father had towards this young man. He seemed gentle towards him, he put himself aside in order to fill out the young man. This irritated Anna. “Father,” she said abruptly, “give me some collection.” “What collection?” asked Brangwen. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she cried, flushing. “Nay,” he said, “what collection’s this?” “You know it’s the first Sunday of the month.” Anna stood confused. Why was he doing this, why was he making her conspicuous before this stranger? “I want some collection,” she reasserted. “So tha says,” he replied indifferently, looking at her, then turning again to this nephew. She went forward, and thrust her hand into his breeches pocket. He smoked steadily, making no resistance, talking to his nephew. Her hand groped about in his pocket, and then drew out his leathern purse. Her colour was bright in her clear cheeks, her eyes shone. Brangwen’s eyes were twinkling. The nephew sat sheepishly. Anna, in her finery, sat down and slid all the money into her lap. There was silver and gold. The youth could not help watching her. She was bent over the heap of money, fingering the different coins. “I’ve a good mind to take half a sovereign,” she said, and she looked up with glowing dark eyes. She met the light-brown eyes of her cousin, close and intent upon her. She was startled. She laughed quickly, and turned to her father. “I’ve a good mind to take half a sovereign, our Dad,” she said. “Yes, nimble fingers,” said her father. “You take what’s your own.” “Are you coming, our Anna?” asked her brother from the door. She suddenly chilled to normal, forgetting both her father and her cousin. “Yes, I’m ready,” she said, taking sixpence from the heap of money and sliding the rest back into the purse, which she laid on the table. “Give it here,” said her father. Hastily she thrust the purse into his pocket and was going out. “You’d better go wi’ ’em, lad, hadn’t you?” said the father to the nephew.