“Who tied this scarf here?” he asked, looking up. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether. For if Gerald had indeed gone to see this Prudence, it was better to wait for his report. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate.
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