"Oh! no; quite well."
"You are so silent, and you sat there in such a dreary way, I feared something was the matter."
He made an effort to rouse himself and shake off the oppression—the heavy, heavy weight which had lain on his soul all day.
"I am only stupid," he replied, with an attempt at playfulness. "I have been forced to talk so incessantly to those people, that I have no ideas left."
"I am sure conversation with people in general doesn't consume one's ideas," she said, with a lightness which appeared forced like his own.
"How long does Mrs. Harrington stay?" he asked.
"Only till to-morrow. You don't like her, I fancy?"
"There is too much of her in every way," he said, peevishly; "she dresses too much, talks too much—she tires one."
"That is very cruel and ungrateful; the lady confided to me only a little while ago that she had a profound admiration for you, and was dying to get up a flirtation, if I did not mind."
"Don't repeat such nonsense," he said, almost rudely, "you know how I hate it. I think either the married man or woman who flirts, deserves to be as severely punished as if he or she had committed an actual crime."