She kicked both of her legs with the force of a bull, sending a blow into Rhea’s borrowed legs. "Do you call this frantic glee happiness?" "It's all the happiness I have known for years," returned the widow, becoming suddenly calm, "and it's short-lived enough, as you perceive. It's your eagerness that bothers me. It was fortunate that by this time Winifred had so far recovered, as to be able to afford her father the best and only solace that, under the circumstances, he could have received,—her personal attentions. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap.
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