“We would never cut off so pretty a head.”
“Oh, yes, you would—you would cut off mine to-morrow.” All this she said vehemently, piercing him with her bright eyes. “You would cut off my head to-morrow,” she repeated, almost fiercely; “I tell you you would.”
Her departure was always unexpected, her moods changed with so much rapidity. “Look!” she said, pointing where the clock on St. Peter’s church showed above the bushes. “Five minutes to five. In five minutes my mother’s tea-hour. It is like growing old. I go to gossip. Good-bye.”
The red feather shone for a moment among the bushes and was gone.
IV.
The next day and the day after, Sherman was followed by those bright eyes. When he opened a letter at his desk they seemed to gaze at him from the open paper, and to watch him from the flies upon the ceiling. He was even a worse clerk than usual.