This
was new to Bibbs; it was a perceptible change since he had last seen
her, and he bent upon her a steady, whimsical scrutiny as they stood
at the curb, waiting for an automobile across the street to disengage
itself from the traffic.
"That's the new car," she said. "Everything's new. We've got four
now, besides Jim's. Roscoe's got two."
"Edith, you look--" he began, and paused.
"Oh, WE're all well," she said, briskly; and then, as if something in
his tone had caught her as significant, "Well, HOW do I look, Bibbs?"
"You look--" He paused again, taking in the full length of her--her
trim brown shoes, her scant, tapering, rough skirt, and her coat of
brown and green, her long green tippet and her mad little rough hat
in the mad mode--all suited to the October day.
"How do I look?" she insisted.
"You look," he answered, as his examination ended upon an incrusted
watch of platinum and enamel at her wrist, "you look--expensive!"
That was a substitute for what he intended to say, for her constraint
and preoccupation, manifested particularly in her keeping her direct
glance away from him, did not seem to grant the privilege of impulsive
intimacies.
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