Her unnatural calm was giving way. The only persons in the Lodge were Mrs. Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song. They began the evening like usual, driving down highways and byways. “You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is it? One wants to be CLEAN. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. How can you say such things? You’re too young to be married, and realize this: you’re not ready. In an instant, she turned on him.
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