I was suddenly seized of a base inspiration. In my despair I did not hesitate. Said I: “That reminds me. We must go over to see the old people.”
“Oh, yes,” she murmured. “I’m so neglectful.”
I felt—I saw—that I was on the right track at last. “When will you go?” I persisted. “Next Sunday?”
“Perhaps,” said she faintly.
“Yes, we’ll go Sunday. They fret because you never write.”
“They are well?”
“In splendid health. There’s no reason why all four of them shouldn’t outlive us.”
“You—you go often?” she faltered.
“I haven’t been for some time,” said I. “You see, I’ve been away.... If we opened the house, we could have them visit us. That would make up to them for the way we’ve acted.”
She gazed at me in large-eyed horror. Suddenly she smiled with patient scorn and shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, I had forgotten your passion for jesting.”