I hope I haven't given any unintentional offence?" said the widow, again meekly appealing to Wood. Sheila had dropped glaring hints that she knew, which Chuck tacitly acknowledged with a lowered gaze. Besides, the sun had gone in and it looked like rain. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. "Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed the knight, upon whom a light seemed suddenly to break. Then, quite insensibly, her queenliness had declined. He had assumed that her leaving home was the point at issue, that everything turned on that, and that the sole alternative was obedience, and she had fallen in with that assumption until rebellion seemed a sacred principle.
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