She said something about the weather; he did not notice what she said nor what he answered; something about the same weather of course. But whatever he said had not released him from her gaze. She kept him covered. Cutter had joined in with his feelings and opinion on the weather. What was said made no difference. Shippen had to keep his eyes down or running along the floor, not on Mrs. Cutter. Men do that when they are startled or ill at ease with a woman, if they are uncertain about where to place her in the category of her sex. Shippen was very uncertain on this point. He had seen many a woman better gowned, more beautiful, but never had he seen one with this winged look. “Are we late?” Cutter asked, addressing his wife. “No,” she answered briefly, as if words were an item with her. “Well, anyhow we are hungry,” he laughed. “Took Shippen out for a little winter golf. Links rotten after all this rain. No game. All we got was an appetite.” Shippen glanced at Cutter. For the first time he recognized Cutter. Smart fellow, pipping his village shell. But, good heaven, this room! Might have got further than this in his scenery. He went on catching impressions. He felt very keen. It occurred to him suddenly that Cutter’s wife was responsible for the room. This fellow who could fly like a kite in the markets couldn’t fly here or move or change anything. Odd situation. If this was her taste in house furnishing, who chose her frock for her? She was dressed like a fashionable woman, and she looked like a madonna; not virginal, but awfully still like the image of something immortally removed. She gave him a queer feeling. Still it was distinctly a sensation; he handed it to her for that. All this time Cutter was talking like a man covering some kind of breach, laughing at the end of every sentence. He heard himself making replies, also laughing. Nothing from Mrs. Cutter. He looked across at her seated in the other mahogany chair, and dropped his eyes. Her gaze was still fixed on him, no shadow of a smile on her face. He understood why instantly. This was not mirth, this was laughter he and Cutter were executing as people do when they make conversation. He was amazed at this woman’s independence. She had nothing to say and said it in silence. She heard nothing amusing, therefore she was not smiling. She was not even embarrassed. It all depends upon your experience and angle of vision what you see in another person. This is why your husband may discover that some other woman understands him better than you do. She knows him better than you do because she knows more about men than you do. And if there is anything that weakens the moral knees of a man quicker even than strong drink, it is to feel the soothing flattery of being better understood by another woman.