He found the door ajar, and, to his surprise, perceived little Winifred seated at a table, busily engaged in tracing some design upon a sheet of paper. Doubts began to rise up all about her, plucking at her confidence. She taught me how to crochet and cross stitch. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher. Gosse sneered. I miss them so. While he was thus employed a farming man came into the barn. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise.
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