"And now," he continued, sternly, "was it your master who has just ridden by?" "No," answered Quilt, sullenly. The wounded man had descended the bridge, and dashed himself against the door beyond it; but, finding it impossible to force his way further, he turned to confront his assailants. He met her eyes with his fiery black gaze. “When we go indoors I will show you the offers I have refused,” she answered. But not today. I'll call for you after lunch. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her.
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