"Same thing that's troubling Dorothy, then?"
"Is Dorothy ill?" inquired he, suddenly as alert as he had been absent. "She hasn't let me know anything about it."
"Ill? Of course not," reassured Ursula. "She's never ill. But—I've not anywhere or ever seen two people as crazy about each other as you and she."
"Really?" Norman had relapsed into interest in what he was eating.
"You live all alone down there in the country. You treat anyone who comes to see you as intruder. And as soon as darling husband goes away, darling wife wanders about like a damned soul. Honestly, it gave me the blues to look at her eyes. And I used to think she cared more about the baby than about you."
"She's probably worried about something else," said Norman. "More salad? No? There's no dessert—at least I've ordered none. But if you'd like some strawberries——"
"I thought of that," replied Ursula, not to be deflected. "I mean of her being upset about something beside you. I'm slow to suspect anyone of really caring about any one else. But, although she didn't confess, I soon saw that it was your absence. And she wasn't putting on for my benefit, either. My maid hears the same thing from all the servants."
"This is pleasant," said Norman in his mocking good-humored way.
"And you're in the same state," she charged with laughing but sympathetic eyes. "Why, Fred, you're as madly in love with her as ever."
"I wonder," said he reflectively.