“I believe she’s dressing up-stairs—now. “I had a faint idea once that things were as you say they are, but the affair of the ring—of the unexpected ring—puzzled me. But she no longer obsessed over heresy, no longer did she feel cursed by God. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. The ruffled chemise-front under the wide lapels of her waistcoat and jacket no longer quivered, and her pose, with the full cloth petticoat spreading about her, was relaxed.
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