"Who cares about what he thought?" Tom was savage.
"I do," Donelle whispered. She was putting her violin away. "I do. I couldn't stand having a man look at me like that. Why, Tom, it made me feel ashamed."
Again Gavot cursed, but under his breath.
"You going?" he asked. "Wait, I'll come with you. Wait, Donelle."
But the girl did not pause.
"I'd rather go alone," she called back.
But she did not go directly home, she took a round-about way and reached the hill back of the little white house. The tall pines rose black from the untrodden snow, the winter sky was as blue as steel, and as cold. In among the trees, where it was sheltered, Donelle sat down. There she could think!
The power of a look is mighty. The mere instant that Norval had gazed upon Donelle through the window was sufficient to carry the meaning in the man's mind to the sensitive girl.
It took her some time to translate the truth as she sat under the trees on the hilltop, but slowly it all became clear.
"He does not know, but he thinks wrong of me." Donelle spoke aloud as if repeating a lesson.