“Were the Reasons at the reception?”
“They were. It made no difference.”
“It’s very curious,” remarked Dolly with a compassionate air, “that you always manage to admire people whom somebody else has married.”
“It would be very curious,” I rejoined, “if somebody had not married the people whom I admire. Last night, though, I made nothing of his sudden removal; my fancy rioted in accidental deaths for him.”
“He won’t die,” said Dolly.
“I hate that sort of superstition,” said I irritably. “He’s just as likely to die as any other man is.”
“He certainly won’t die,” said Dolly.
“Well, I know he won’t. Do let it alone,” said I, much exasperated. It was probably only kindness, but Dolly suddenly turned her eyes away from me and fixed them on the fire; she took the fan up again and twirled it in her hand; a queer little smile bent her lips.
“I hope the poor man won’t die,” said Dolly in a low voice.
“If he had died last night!” I cried longingly. Then, with a regretful shrug of my shoulders, I added, “Let him live now to the crack of doom!”