Shy, grateful in her loneliness for this unexpected attention, she had listened. And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. She did not understand the note of hostility to men that ran through it all, the bitter vindictiveness that lit Miss Miniver’s cheeks and eyes, the sense of some at last insupportable wrong slowly accumulated. “I’m sorry Mister McCloskey! I was out seeing my boyfriend!” He stared at her concernedly. In fact, one of them was downright sceptical. She loved to be told to do things. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. From one window the beach was always visible; from another, the stores.
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