His kind eyes were puffy with fatigue. She started at the falling of a leaf, at the lumbering of a cow through the hedge. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. “Thousands! Ugh! And found it a worse slavery. You have friends, acquaintances, social standing, brothers and sisters, every advantage! Instead of which, you want to go to some mixed classes or other and cut up rabbits and dance about at nights in wild costumes with casual art student friends and God knows who. ‘For that I shall certainly not leave until you have told me every tiny detail. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk.
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