She stood there looking at the jug on the table, then went up and lifted it, much as Ford had done, and pulled the cork with a certain angry defiance.
Perhaps, he guessed shrewdly, Josephine also felt rather foolish at what she was doing--and he smiled over the thought.
Josephine turned the jug to the light, shut one eye into an adorable squint, and peered in.

Then she set the jug down and pushed the cork slowly into place; and her face was puzzled.

Ford could have laughed aloud when he saw it, but instead he held his breath for fear she should discover him.

She stood very still for a minute or two, staring at nothing at all; moved the jug into the exact place where it had stood before, and went out of the room on her toes.
So did Ford, for that matter, and he was in a cold terror lest she should look out and see him walking down the path where he should logically have walked more than five minutes before.

He did not dare to turn and look--until he was outside the gate; then inspiration came to aid him and he went back boldly, stepped upon the porch with no effort at silence, opened his door, and went in as one who has a right there.
He heard the click of dishes which told that she was clearing the table, and he breathed freer.