There she was, with her sleeves turned back, and a large pinafore apron over her rich bosom, kneading flour.

He would have liked to approach her and kiss her.

But he never could accomplish feats of that kind at unusual moments.
"Oh!" she laughed.

"You can look! _I'm_ not worrying.

I've no patience with worrying." Later in the afternoon he went out; rather like a person who has reasons for leaving inconspicuously.