She moved her arm so that she could look at him, and wondered why it should give her no pleasure to see him standing there unharmed, sturdy, alive to his finger tips--him whom she had but a little while ago believed dead.

Johnny, I must confess, was cot a cheerful object.

He was scowling, with his face turned so that Mary V saw only his sullen profile; with his mouth pinched in at the corners and his chin set in the lines of stubbornness.
As if he felt her eyes upon him, Johnny turned and sent her a look not calculated to be conciliating.

If Mary V wanted to sulk, he'd give her a chance.

He certainly could not throw up all his plans just on her whim.
"I guess I'll go down and help Bland," he said in the repressed tone of anger forcing itself to be civil.