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She avoided Marian’s eyes, because she was silently considering how long her sister’s visit would last and to what expense it would put her. She did not mention Daniel, and her silence condemned him more completely than her husband’s acrimonious speeches.
Theresa greeted her sister with apparent friendliness, but she did not leave her place. She stretched out her hand across the ink-stand, and observed Marian’s shabby appearance—the worn shawl, the old-fashioned little cloth bonnet with its black velvet ribbands meeting in a bow under the chin. “Go upstairs for a bit,” she said, “and let the children entertain you. Rieke will bring up your bag.”
Marian’s head sank low on her breast. “Your father was a remarkable man, Daniel,” she said after a long silence, “but he never did understand people; and the person whom he misunderstood most of all was his wife. He was like a man who is blind, but who does not want to let it be known that he is blind: he walks around, but where does he go?
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