There was nothing of the wife or woman about her, save something in the eyes, which seemed to belong to ages past and gone, something so solemnly wise, yet so painfully confused, that there flashed into the Young Doctor's mind at first glance of her the vision of a young bird caught from its thoughtless, sunbright journeyings, its reckless freedom of winged life, into the captivity of a cage.
She smiled, this child, as she shook hands with the Mayor, and it had the appeal of one who had learned the value of smiling--as though it answered many a question and took the place of words and the trials of the tongue.

It was pitifully mechanical.

As the Young Doctor saw, it was the smile of a captive in a strange uncomprehended world, more a dream than a reality.
"Mrs.Mazarine, welcome," said the Mayor after an abashed pause.

"We're proud of this town, but we'll be prouder still, now you've come." The girl-wife smiled again.

At the same time it was as though she glanced apprehensively out of the corner of her eye at the old man by her side, as she said: "Thank you.