Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. It was the crowned queen of mountains in her robes of shining white. The horror of those few minutes was still with her. There's the paragraph. ‘Always he is busy about my affairs. It is not at all comme il faut. Nothing would stop her, and she was prepared to face the consequences. He touched it again, and this time it was not withdrawn. I haven't touched the other. He was in love with her! She tried to grasp all the welter of values in the situation simultaneously, and draw some conclusion from their disorder. Her eyes were wide open with amazement. The chair is in the veranda. He did his best not to grin.
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