She was not tired; she was not dragged or anxious looking as he had seen even fortunate young wives and mothers at times.

There actually flashed back upon him the morning, months ago, when he had met her in the street and said to himself that she was like a lovely child on her birthday with all her gifts about her.

Her radiance had been quiet even then because she was always quiet.
She led him to a seat near her window and she sat by him.
"I put this chair here for you because it is so lovely to look out at the moor," she said.
That moved him to begin with.

She had been thinking simply and kindly of him even before he came.

He had always been prepared for, waited upon either with flattering attentions or ceremonial service, but the quiet pretty things mothers and sisters and wives did had not been part of his life and he had always noticed and liked them and sometimes wondered that most men received them with a casual air.