And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. “You look more like your old self when you smile,” he remarked. " "Dare not!" echoed the carpenter; "I don't understand you, Joan. I won't keep you long. ” He replied lightly and stepped towards her. Dieu du ciel, but where was Gerald? On the move again, she found herself standing before one of the mirrors, gazing into her own countenance without seeing it. It was impulsive and natural.
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