“I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. ‘That will be a matter for her future husband to decide. Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage.
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