“But you do not know,” she whispered, “whether I am a married woman or not. Feeling rather exhausted, it occurred to him that possibly some provisions might have been left by the constable; and, looking about, he perceived a pitcher of water and a small brown loaf on the floor. The boy she had loved was gone. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. Of course, at home there would have been questions. She stood there limply and did not act to resist him. She was already a little prepared by her discursive reading and discussion under the Widgett influence for ideas and “movements,” though temperamentally perhaps she was rather disposed to resist and criticise than embrace them. A woman such as I am might help take care of Mr.
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