Her head moved with quick little birdlike turnings.

Her dark hair was less orderly than Winona's, and--from her kitchen work--two spots of colour burned high on her cheeks.
"Your locket's slipped inside your waist," she said, not dreaming that Winona had in shame brought this about.
Winona, who would have been shamed again to explain this, withdrew the bauble.

The fond mother now observed the book above which her daughter bent, twisting her neck to follow the title.
"Is it interesting ?" she asked; and then: "The way to know a man--cook for him." Her daughter winced, suffering a swift picture of her too-light mother, cooking for Mr.Arnold.
"I should think you'd pick out a good novel to read," went on her mother.

"That last one I got from the library--it's about a beautiful woman that counted the world well lost for love." Winona murmured indistinctly.
"She didn't--she didn't stop at anything," added the mother, brightly.
"Oh, Mother!" "I don't care! The Reverend Mallett himself said that novels should be read for an understanding of life--ever novels with a wholesome sex interest.

The very words he said!" "Mother, Mother!" protested Winona with a quick glance at her father.
She doubted if any sex interest could be wholesome; and surely, with both sexes present, the less said about such things the better.