She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. To-night all this may seem hard and cruel. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. She warmed to him fast, her anger was much harder to carry than the pleasant everyday neutrality of affection. Wood, sharply. “I’m going for a long tramp, auntie,” she said.
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