On that last morning of their stay she drove with them to the station, still giving only a half-attention to the small episodes of their departure.  She did see and smile at the characteristic quality of an instinctive gesture of Eugenia’s as they stepped up on the platform of the station.  Two oddly-shaped pieces of metal stood there, obviously parts of a large machine.  Paul stumbled over them as he climbed out of the car, and held tight to Mr. Welles’ hand to save himself from a fall.  Eugenia saw them instantly from afar as an element in life which threatened the spotlessness of her gray traveling cloak, and as she passed them she drew the thick folds of velvet-like wool about her closely.  Marise thought to herself, “That’s Eugenia’s gesture as she goes through the world.”

Neale turned off his switch, listened a moment to see if the Ford were boiling from the long climb up the hill to the station, and now made one long-legged step to the platform.  He started towards Eugenia with the evident intention of making some casual pleasant remarks, such as are demanded by decency for a departing guest, but in his turn his eyes caught the curiously shaped pieces of metal.  He stopped short, his face lighted up with pleasure and surprise.  All consciousness of anyone else on the platform disappeared from his expression.  “Hello!” he said to himself, “those mandrels here.”  He picked up one in his strong hands on which the metal left a gray dust, and inspected it.  He might have been entirely alone in his shop at the mill.

Marise noted with envy how he gave all of himself to that momentary examination, entirely escaped from any awareness of that tyrannical self which in her own heart always clamored like a spoiled child for attention.  The impersonal concentration of his look as he turned the metal about between those strong dusty hands, gave to his face the calm, freed expression not to be bought for any less price than a greater interest in one’s work than in one’s self.  “They’ll do,” pronounced Neale.  This was evidently a thought spoken aloud, for it did not occur to him to make any pretense of including the two women in his interest.  He set down the casting he held, and went off into the freight-house, calling loudly, “Charlie!  Charlie!  Those mandrels have come.  I wish you’d . . .” his voice died away as he walked further into the dusky freight-shed.

Marise happening to glance at Eugenia now, caught on her face an expression which she took to be annoyance at a breach of manners.  She reflected, “Eugenia must find Neale’s abrupt American ways perfectly barbaric.”  And she was surprised to feel for the first time a rather scornful indifference to all that was involved in Eugenia’s finding them barbaric.  Heavens!  What did it matter?  In a world so filled with awful and portentous and glorious human possibilities, how could you bother about such things?