I seemed (I suppose because I am stout and motherly-looking) to be the general repository of people’s confidences, for one afternoon, before dinner, Mrs. Raymond came and took Charles’s chair—her husband was deep in a game of chess. He glanced up for a second, but he evidently considered that she was safe with me, and resumed his play. I looked at her closely; she had been crying. This was the second time I had seen her with red eyes. She moved her chair, so that she sat with her back to the chess-players, and said—
“I have not had a talk with you for a long time, Mrs. Paulet.”
“No, my dear; but we can have a good chat now. You are not looking yourself; have you a headache?”
“I—I feel the heat; oh, I do hope we are not going to a very hot place.”
“I hope not,” I answered cheerfully.
“And in six more days I shall know! Mrs. Paulet, I wonder if I shall ever see you again. Oh, I hope I shall!”
“Perhaps some day you will come and pay me a little visit at Tamashabad?”
“How I should love to stay with you, but——”
“But what?”
“My husband would not let me go, I am sure. Oh, dear Mrs. Paulet, I feel so safe when I am near you!” and her eyes filled with tears.