He moved about for a time as if he were busy packing.

Then came silence.
She imagined him on the edge of the camp bed, so seldom used, smoking and ruminating.
Whiffs from his pipe came through the cracks of the door between the two rooms, and were an offence to her irritated nerves.

She had grown accustomed to his tobacco, but, as a rule, he did not smoke the last thing at night.

He had seemed to regard his wife's chamber as a tabernacle, enshrining that which he held most sacred, and would never enter it until he was cleansed from the grime and dust of the stockyard and cattle camp, and had laid aside the associations of his working day.

That attitude had appealed to all that was idealistic in both their natures, and had kept green the memory of their honeymoon.