’ ‘Leonardo again,’ Gerald muttered and, to her disappointment, dropped her hand. As she approached, the carpenter's wife eyed her from head to foot, in the hope of finding something in her person or apparel to quarrel with. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. She would meet him upon this ground: he should never be given the slightest hint that she was unhappy. Pah!’ She flounced about and, crossing to the bed, plonked down on it, pointedly averting her face and resting the large pistol in her lap. When she occupied, it, it was neatness itself; the little porch was overrun with creepers—the garden trim and exquisitely kept. She had felt very uncomfortable around him, grotesque.
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