Martin’s parents looked at each other in embarrassed, silent communication. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. Nevertheless, she could not prevent a rising excitement as the dawn of the new life drew near to her—a thrilling of the nerves, a secret and delicious exaltation above the common circumstances of existence. She was dressed in one of those complicated dresses that are all lace and work and confused patternings of black and purple and cream about the body, and she was in many ways a younger feminine version of the same theme as himself. "You want him?" "Please!" said Ruth.
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