"Oh, my dear, he'll come back." As she spoke, a sudden mischievous smile spread over her face. "You should hear Berthe Cormack on it!" she said.
"I don't want to hear Mrs. Cormack at all. I hate the woman—and I think that I—at any rate—show it."
It surprised Adela to find her friend in such excellent spirits. The air of listlessness, which was apt to mar her manner, and even to some degree her appearance (for to look bored is not becoming), had entirely vanished.
"You don't seem very sorry about poor Mr. Loring," Adela observed.
"Oh, I am; but Mr. Loring can't stop the wheels of the world. And it's his own fault."
Adela sighed. It did not seem of consequence whose fault it was.
"I don't think I care much about the wheels of the world," she said. "How are the children, Maggie?"
"Oh, splendid, and in great glee about the seaside"—and Mrs. Dennison laughed.
"And about losing Tom Loring?"
"They cried at first."