"I do not know. I did not ask."
"I think she has gone, and that she has taken the child with her; a poor puny thing. I made Houghton go there to enquire, and he saw the child. I hear from my father that we are to congratulate you."
"Things are too sad for congratulation."
"It is horrible; is it not? And Mary is with her father."
"Yes, she's at the deanery."
"Is that right?—when all this is going on?"
"I don't think anything is right," he said, gloomily.
"Has she—quarrelled with you, George?" At the sound of his Christian name from the wife's lips he looked round at the sleeping husband. He was quite sure that Mr. Houghton would not like to hear his wife call him George. "He sleeps like a church," said Mrs. Houghton, in a low voice. The two were sitting close together and Mr. Houghton's arm-chair was at a considerable distance. The occasional knocking of the balls, and the continued sound of voices was to be heard from the other room. "If you have separated from her I think you ought to tell me."
"I saw her to-day as I came through."
"But she does not go to Manor Cross?"