He relayed many details of the location and the beautiful rivers of her home, a subject she never tired of. Then she reverted to the trousers. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. Never again to be alone! To fit herself into this man's life as a hand into a glove; to use all her skill to force him into the position of depending upon her utterly; to be the spark to the divine fire! He should have his book, even if it had to be written with her heart's blood. And he, her lawful husband, dared not go to her and console her! Accursed—all of them— Enschede, Ruth, and himself. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. In the afternoon he probably loafs in his pajamas. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. ” She smiled, sure of herself beyond any pretending, into his troubled eyes. The problem had returned, made gigantic by the possibility of Ruth's love. She became angry with herself. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees.
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