Then they dressed her in a dirty dress of coarse serge and a cap, and took away her own clothes. “What’s the objection?” “I suppose she ought to know?” said Gwen to her mother, trying to alter the key of the conversation. Earles strode into the waiting-room. Upon what this instinct was based she could not say; she was conscious only of its insistence. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. “They would spoil every chance. But you belong to me—and I want you. You’ll be telling me Gerald did not catch you snooping at the Bicknacres, I suppose.
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