Always fastidiously booted, her low-quartered shoes were charming to the eye, but hardly adapted to the dust and inequalities of the high-road.

It was true that she had thought of buying a coarser pair at Indian Spring, but once face to face with their uncompromising ugliness, she had faltered and fled.

The sun was unmistakably hot, but her parasol was too well known and offered too violent a contrast to the duster for practical use.

Once she stopped with an exclamation of annoyance, hesitated, and looked back.

In half an hour she had twice lost her shoe and her temper; a pink flush took possession of her cheeks, and her eyes were bright with suppressed rage.