His face was ruddy and weak , but good-natured : his eyes were large and blue , and he had a little straw-colored moustache , with a juvenile twist and curl in it . Cecily did not recognize him , yet there was something vaguely familiar about him . She walked rapidly up to the house . In the sitting-room she found Lucy Ellen peering out between the muslin window curtains . When the latter turned there was an air of repressed excitement about her . `` Who was that man , Lucy Ellen ? '' Cecily asked . To Cecily 's amazement , Lucy Ellen blushed -- a warm , Spring-like flood of color that rolled over her delicate little face like a miracle of rejuvenescence . `` Did n't you know him ? That was Cromwell Biron , '' she simpered . Although Lucy Ellen was forty and , in most respects , sensible , she could not help simpering upon occasion . `` Cromwell Biron , '' repeated Cecily , in an emotionless voice . She took off her bonnet mechanically , brushed the dust from its ribbons and bows and went to put it carefully away in its white box in the spare bedroom . She felt as if she had had a severe shock , and she dared not ask anything more just then . Lucy Ellen 's blush had frightened her . It seemed to open up dizzying possibilities of change . `` But she promised -- she promised , '' said Cecily fiercely , under her breath . While Cecily was changing her dress , Lucy Ellen was getting the tea ready in the little kitchen . Now and then she broke out into singing , but always checked herself guiltily . Cecily heard her and set her firm mouth a little firmer .
`` If a man had jilted me twenty years ago , I would n't be so overwhelmingly glad to see him when he came back -- especially if he had got fat and bald-headed , '' she added , her face involuntarily twitching XXXXX a smile .
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