Explore "Thurston of Orchard Valley" by Harold Bindloss on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was a pleasant afternoon when Millicent Leslie stood in the portico of her villa, which looked upon the inlet from a sunny ridge just outside Vancouver. Like the other residences scattered about, the dwelling quaintly suggested a doll's house -- it was so diminutively pretty with its carved veranda, bright green lattices, and spotless white paint picked out with shades of paler green and yellow. Flowers filled tiny borders, and behind the house small firs, spared by the ax, stood rigid and somber. With clear sunshine heating upon it and the blue waters sparkling close below, the tiny villa was so daintily attractive that one might almost suppose its inhabitants could carry neither care nor evil humor across its threshold, but there was disgust and weariness in Millicent's eyes as she glanced from the little pony-carriage waiting at the gate to her husband leaning against a pillar.
Leslie was evidently in a complacent frame of mind, and he did not notice his wife's expression. There was a smile upon his puffy face which suggested pride of possession. It was justifiable, for Mrs. Leslie was still a distinctly handsome woman, and she knew how to dress herself.