The carpenter trembled; for he perceived Rowland's gaze fixed first upon the infant, and then on himself. She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine. He stooped to recover it, and his face was hidden. What need had she of Gerald, or anyone? Yet, if he was here, would he not make some foolish game with her and make her laugh? Instead of behaving in this fashion so stupide, and crying, crying, crying. “You must do more than think of it,” he urged.
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