She walked away to the window again, not angrily, but smoothing down the
folds of her bright print dress as if she were wiping her hands of her
husband and his guest. Something like a very material and man-like sense
of shame struggled up through his crust of religion. He stammered, "You
don't understand me, Safie."

"Then talk of something I do understand," she said pertly. "Tell me
some news of Angel's. Your brother was over there the other day. He
made himself quite popular with the young ladies--so I hear from Mrs.
Selvedge. You can tell me as we walk along the bank towards Sandy's
claim. It's just as well that you should move on now, as it's your FIRST
call, and next time you can stop longer." She went to the corner of the
room, removed her smart slippers, and put on a pair of walking-shoes,
tying them, with her foot on a chair, in a quiet disregard of her
visitor's presence; took a brown holland sunbonnet from the wall,
clapped it over her browner hair and hanging braids, and tied it under
her chin with apparently no sense of coquetry in the act--becoming
though it was--and without glancing at him. Alas for Madison's ethics!
The torment of her worldly speech and youthful contempt was nothing to
this tacit ignoring of the manhood of her lover--this silent acceptance
of him as something even lower than her husband. He followed her with a
burning cheek and a curious revolting of his whole nature that it is to
be feared were scarcely Christian. The willows opened to let them pass
and closed behind them.

An hour later Mrs. McGee returned to her leafy bower alone. She took off
her sunbonnet, hung it on its nail on the wall, shook down her braids,
took off her shoes, stained with the mud of her husband's claim, and put
on her slippers. Then she ascended to her eyrie in the little gallery,