“You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. It was a habit of his to talk to himself. Yes, I can readily believe it. She had gained respect all about town with news of her fine marriage, and her reputation as a beauty was expanding. To him she had always appeared as a mere pleasure-loving parasite—something quite insignificant. She was chaffing him about being taken for Meysey Hill, and suggested that he should be presented to me as the millionaire. While waiting for his coming she had stated her present and future relations with him with what had seemed to her the most satisfactory lucidity and completeness. Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees. She fixed her eyes upon it and ran, keeping always as far as possible in the shadow of the hedge, gazing fearfully every now and then down along the valley for the white smoke of the train.
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