He filled her glass with champagne. Ennison kicked it away with his foot. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. "Well, Joan," said the benevolent mechanic, after he had looked at her steadfastly for a few moments, "what say you?—silence gives consent, eh?" Mrs. Mike chimed in. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. “What have I been all this time?” she asked herself, and answered, “Just stark egotism, crude assertion of Ann Veronica, without a modest rag of religion or discipline or respect for authority to cover me!” It seemed to her as though she had at last found the touchstone of conduct. “Ungracious little beast, I call her. It was Ennison, who loomed up through the shadows.
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