176 “No, it’s very good. John did not see her until the last period. “I do,” he answered. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. Jonathan threw open the street-door. Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. I was his wife. I want to talk to him and go about with him. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. There was a look in her eyes which puzzled him. Do you expect me, I wonder. Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested. He was twenty-nine at the time, practically an old man.
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