Never for a moment had violence come between these two since long ago he had, in spite of her mother’s protest in the background, carried her kicking and squalling to the nursery for some forgotten crime. It seemed intolerable that she should go home and admit herself beaten. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. They seemed to her that morning to be all armed with nets and prepared to throw them over her directly her movements became in any manner truly free. Gerald smiled and excused himself with the Poussaint girl, whose mouth pinched together as she threw a dagger glance at the voluptuous Madame Valade.
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