Wood was not particularly fortunate in his own matrimonial connections. Wood scarcely knew where he was. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. He started a dozen stories, but they all ended in the waste-basket. He is here by your side. She never knew what became of her farmer after that. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones. She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark.
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