She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. Wood in the deepest mourning. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. He had already spoken his mind on the folly of allowing a clearly dangerous female to escape a second time. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. ’ Mrs Sindlesham’s alert glance found his. She returned home to the Beck house soaked and soggy.
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