Clarence Winered was a narrow, stumbling man, a clothes merchant by trade, whose clerkish character leaned towards the fastidious and wary. A pair of small, stout, eyeglasses adorned the end of his nose, and his hands were always in a flutter. His hair was an unusual brushed red, his joints were knobby, and though he traded in clothes he seldom looked good in them. This--combined with his habit of frequently talking to horses and other animals--gave him the image of a quietly respectable eccentric.

His father, the august Thadius Winered, had taken the Winered dyed cloth works, moved it from Dunhus north to the smaller town of Hillkirk, and expanded into silks and retail clothing. Clarence himself had no such inspiring genius; he was content to manage the thriving business quietly and without upheaval. And under his hand the business continued to thrive--for as Clarence was fond of saying, within the confines of the Blue Fountain Inn from behind a pint of bitter, one could not help but succeeding at commerce, if only one held steady to it.

"For every time I go to market or fair, gentlemen, I find others who are shrewder and more calculating than I. And yet, through simple industriousness, I succeed. Why, gentlemen? Why?" (Here he held out his hands imploringly to the ceiling, as if summoning divine guidance.) "Because those very same ones, who are so cunning, will throw away their money and reputation in the most surprisingly straw-headed ways. They will perform intrigues at court, and end up in poverty, or in exile, or on the gibbet. And those who get all in a passion about honor--dying in battlefields and in duels. Bah! Gentlemen. Bah! But the worst are those that throw their fortunes at liquor and women." (Here he would look, almost disapprovingly, down at his pint of simple beer). "Especially women. One can't believe what some fools will waste on a bit of lace and frills, and a scented kiss!"

Clarence would not tarry long at the inn after such speeches, but, inspiring himself, quit the alehouse and make his way up to his account room, where he would work diligently at his books all through the night. At other times, however, when the dashing glimpse of a petticoat or a startled smile from the milkmaid caught his sight, the clothseller would stop and reflect, thinking that he, too, might have fallen victim to those friendly vices. "But luckily for myself," he would conclude with relief, "I was saved from such folly, by marrying well."

And truly, no one who knew Clarence and Theresa Winered could cast doubt on the harmony and agreeableness of their marriage.

Other than a reddish tint to their hair, husband and wife had little in common. While Clarence had a rather bent form and anemic nervousness, Theresa Winered stood straight and calm. Her husband was deprecating to his superiors, and a touch patronizing to his servants and workers, but she treated everyone alike--with a cool detachment, laced with an occasional sarcastic remark. He frequented the busy market squares and dockyards; she walked in the silent, cliff-cut woods that rose above the town. And while he lived in a tight succession of days, with tangible aims that brought him step by step higher in wealth and respectability, to her, life was a sort of wandering, as you sometimes wander in dreams. At times, a great fire seemed to leap in the distance, and she would make her way towards it, feeling some deep passion; but always, before she had covered even half the distance it would be collapsed into a heap of smoke and debris.

She had been rather old for a bride. He had said to Thadius his father: "Pater, look at these young girls running in the shops--they are nothing but trouble, spending your money behind your back in every little shop in town, and what is one to do with them? No, if it please you, I'd rather wed a woman of twenty-two or thereabouts, and one who is not overused to having money around."

"Bah!" his father would reply (an odd characteristic of the Winered clan was that they all said "bah!" with frequency), "if the wench gives you trouble, throw her in the cellar! We must keep our womenfolk in line."

At this Clarence would sniff and grumble, but make no reply. Nonetheless, the father understood his son's mild disposition, and returned one cold evening in late November with just such a woman as his son had described.

"Look, son, my old friend Darrow Croft from Dunhus, the winemaker!" Thadius said, escorting in a broad man with graying hair and mustache. "And his daughter Theresa. I found them at the King and Shield, but persuaded them to bide here at Apelfre."

The girl came in only reluctantly, her cheeks flushed and breathing deeply. She looked quite a beauty, in a bright blue cloak with a deep green dress; snowflakes were still melting on her lashes. The old men quickly resumed the drinking and merriment they had begun at the inn. Clarence drew up a chair but his father motioned him away with a wave of the hand towards Theresa, who was standing, quietly and without nervousness, in the corner. She was looking out the high windows at the sledges that passed through the narrow streets, the horses clop muffled by the snow.

"Please, do come and ... er ... share some sherry," Clarence managed to spit out, trying to imitate the witty manner of the cavaliers in the King's household.

"I'd rather whisk up some whiskey," she replied casually, looking at the richly gilded plate on the walls.

He had never been in such a position, and could not stop his hands from shaking. Yet, as he had on hunting clothes and was not wearing his glasses, to Theresa his looks were not unpleasing. He coaxed a smile from his guest, took her cloak, and presented her a small silver glass containing the strong liquid; they made the customary toast, their glasses clinking together. Old Croft looked up from the table. "Ah, there they are! You know, I should have had your name--Winered for a winemaker! But it will be fitting for her, too, because of her hair."

Thadius laughed mightily at this.