He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. And so Winifred understood him. He felt her observance and warmed to it. Through all he said ran one quality that pleased her—the quality of a man who feels that things can be done, that one need not wait for the world to push one before one moved. “Your father, of course,” he said, “must come to realize just how Splendid you are! He doesn’t understand. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. A true nun. ’ ‘It is you who will get the head blown off,’ threatened the young lady fiercely. It did not shock her; it amazed her, interested her beyond measure. ” He stared at her, trying to guess at the mystery of her thoughts.
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