She thought of her aunt and that purse that was dropped on the table, and of many troublesome and ill-requited kindnesses; she thought of the help of the Widgetts, of Teddy’s admiration; she thought, with a new-born charity, of her father, of Manning’s conscientious unselfishness, of Miss Miniver’s devotion. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. I think it inadvisable—I don’t want an intimacy to spring up between you and a man of that type. Wood had been my father, as well as yours. She was struck by a change in his appearance. Her mind turned and accused itself of having been cold and hard. To a woman she might have confided; but to this man, kindly as he was, it was unthinkable.
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