Some men might have preferred this divine uncertainty to a more monotonous prettiness.

Tyson was not one of these.
One afternoon, about a fortnight after his return from town, he found her sitting in the library with "the animal," as he called his son.

There had been a sound of singing, but it ceased as he came in.

The child's shawl was lying on the floor; he picked it up and pitched it to the other end of the room.

Then he came up to her and scanned her face closely.
"What's the matter with you ?" he said.
"Nothing.