Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. She did not understand the note of hostility to men that ran through it all, the bitter vindictiveness that lit Miss Miniver’s cheeks and eyes, the sense of some at last insupportable wrong slowly accumulated. "Your boast, you see, was a little premature, Mr. ” “You will make me horribly conceited,” he answered. As silent as she had remained about who had brought her home last night.
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