” She could practically hear the self-deprecating thoughts racing across his mind, the failed hours of rehearsed lines. Recovering herself, Melusine tucked the weapons out of sight, down into the deep holsters hidden under the petticoat of her riding habit, and went back into the house where Martha awaited her in some impatience. She was in one of her old walking-dresses, her hair was done in an unfamiliar manner, she wore a wedding-ring, and she looked as if she had been crying. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. It was in fact the first embrace of motherhood she had ever known. ” She went as far as her door, then turned to the window. She met his eyes for a moment, and could not interpret their expression. He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment.
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