Her father was distinctly irascible, and disposed more than ever to hide away among the petrological things—the study was turned out. He hated horizons. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. Almost light-heartedly. This man was her husband in the eyes of both God and man. Even in her own sorry skin-and-bones state of wraithlike pallor and gray under eye circles she was drawing unwanted attention from would-be admirers.
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