She was just going in at the doorway, and a great flame of the sunset, shooting in under the eaves of the porch, enveloped her from her head, with its thick, moist hair that hung low over her neck, to her slim feet, setting a golden flash in the little steel buckles of her low shoes.

She had come to set the table for Annixter's supper.

Taken all aback by the suddenness of the encounter, Annixter ejaculated an abrupt and senseless, "Excuse me." But Hilma, without raising her eyes, passed on unmoved into the dining-room, leaving Annixter trying to find his breath, and fumbling with the brim of his hat, that he was surprised to find he had taken from his head.
Resolutely, and taking a quick advantage of his opportunity, he followed her into the dining-room.
"I see that dog has turned up," he announced with brisk cheerfulness.
"That Irish setter I was asking about." Hilma, a swift, pink flush deepening the delicate rose of her cheeks, did not reply, except by nodding her head.

She flung the table-cloth out from under her arms across the table, spreading it smooth, with quick little caresses of her hands.

There was a moment's silence.