She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. But, if you've a spark of love for me, don't meddle with anything in that house. Jonathan caught her in his arms. En tout cas, no one has asked you to puzzle out anything at all. Somewhere she had read that it was the proper thing to do and that men liked to be alone with their tobacco. What he intended to do with it is of little consequence now. Her eyes were perhaps a little brighter than usual, the firelight played about her hair, there seemed to him to be a sudden softening of the straight firm mouth. If only this child were his: what good times they would have together! The thought passed on, but it left a little ache in his heart.
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