"Well ?" she said.
"The other day, you know," he said, "I rode by the back of your poultry farm, and--I saw you when you were feeding the birds." "Yes ?" she said; she was still looking gravely enough at the snow.

The communication so far did not affect her much.
"Then, when I saw you, I knew that I had seen you before--in the sea--at home." A red flush had mantled her face.

There was perhaps an air of offence, for he saw that she held her head higher, and knew what the turn of the neck would be in spite of the clumsy hood; but what surprised him most was that she did not express any surprise or dismay.
"I did not suppose," she said, in her own gentle, distant way, "that if you had a good memory for that--foolish play, you would not know me again." Her manner added: "I have attempted no concealment." "I did not know you in that dress you wear"-- there was hatred for the dress in his tone as he mentioned it--"so I supposed that you did not expect me to know who you were." She did not reply, leaving the burden of finding the next words upon him.

It would seem that she did not think there was more to say; and this, her supreme indifference to his recognition or non-recognition, half maddened him.

He suddenly saw his case in a new aspect--she was a cruel woman, and he had much with which to reproach her.
"'That foolish play,' as you call it----" he had begun angrily, but a certain sympathy for her, new-born out of his own trouble, stopped him, and he went on, only reproach in his tone: "It was a sad play for me, because my heart has never been my own since.