She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. “You certainly are. Luckily, Sir James was so much engrossed by his own task, that both the remark and gesture escaped him. He recoiled from the sting. “I’m going for a long tramp, auntie,” she said. She did not open the Bible but laid it on the edge of the bed, knelt and rested her forehead upon the worn leather cover. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way.
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