He succeeded so well that by the time he asked for her name once more, she fluttered her lashes as coquettishly as ever. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. He had conveyed it to her, not verbally, but by means of a letter, which seemed to her a singularly ignoble method of prohibition. But she felt his lax figure become rigid. Lucy was charmed; how peaceful the baby looked. . Presently he resumed: “I believe I must be in love. ” Her mind diverged to other aspects, and another type of womanhood. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. “I just wanted you to see that the time will come when I must leave you, and the time is coming soon. Then she put more coal on, piled it over the ashes, and stood once more upright. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. “I don’t think I CAN do that,” she said. \"Nice to meet you.
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