After an ineffable pause, during which her lover had laid a laughing tribute upon her lips and brow, she added:
"Poor father, I wonder where he is?"
"Saw him going down the avenue as I came up, with an enormous bunch of flowers in his hand," Bob told her.
"Poor father" was, in fact, approaching Mrs. Sasnett at that moment, who was seated in mournful but resplendent grandeur upon a rustic bench beneath the trees in her yard.
She was indignant at the day's doings. She had been indignant for months, but she thanked God that she was still a lady, and she was determined to remain one, to which end she had contributed that day enough to make up for the deficit in the women's missionary collections of her church. And she had dressed herself in purple and fine linen by way of making out that she was a lady and nothing but a lady.
"Colonel Adams!" she exclaimed softly, as the Colonel approached.
"Madam, the sight of you is grateful after what I've been through this day!" he said, kissing her hand, and depositing the flowers upon the ground at her feet.
"Oh! Colonel, no one can have had more sympathy with you than I have felt during these trying months," she sighed.
"I have felt it," he returned, parting his coat tails and seating himself beside her.
"No one could have sympathized with you so keenly in your sorrow," she murmured.