Wood uttered something like an imprecation. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. “Don’t ask me to tell you all that women can do, all that women can be. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. Glancing idly up at her own window as they had swung round the corner she had seen a strange thing. It now occurred to him that she had always been fully dressed.
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