Mrs. Gower, not pretending to notice that the latter has been in tears, and to give her an excuse to make her exit, asks her to carry her wraps upstairs for her; and then to go and give them some music during the few minutes before luncheon.
"Mrs. Gower is taking better care of you, little wife, than you are of her, now that the roses from the frosty air are fading. I notice she is paler and thinner."
"Don't blame me, Henry," she answered, stroking his whiskers; "blame Mr. Cobbe. I declare to you both, I never name him without doubling my fists."
"My impression has always been, dear Mrs. Gower, that he will be no companion for you in the hand-in-hand journey through life."
"Yes; but you are not cognizant of certain facts which has led to our being in our present relation towards each other," she says, gravely; "and of which we must tell you, perhaps to-morrow. We have enough on for to-day, and there is the luncheon bell, come."
"Oh, Henry, do you know that the Coles are expected here to-day, and have you told Miss Crew? because, don't," she whispered hurriedly.
"No; I thought it as well not to," he said, in constrained tones, adding, "she has been telling me her sad story, poor girl; which you and Mrs. Gower will know shortly, little woman."