It won't be nice to-day, what of Tom quittin' an' nobody but Bernard to drive the wagon." Martin went into the kitchen with a sinking heart, the image of her red face and slatternly form eating its way like acid into his brain.

She might love him if she only had some time, he concluded.

But she was worked to death.

Bernard Higginbotham was a brute to work her so hard.
But he could not help but feel, on the other hand, that there had not been anything beautiful in that kiss.

It was true, it was an unusual kiss.