“Anywhere you like,” said she, resigning herself to her fate and to a long argument, which she supposed was about the new house. She did not remember about it clearly, but she had a floating suspicion that Nathanael was determined to settle the matter soon, and that she should have a hard struggle between the pretty house she liked, and Mr. Wilson's cottage, which her husband so unaccountably preferred. This was a matter in which she could not yield, come what might. Therefore the “anywhere you like” was in rather an ungracious manner. He seemed determined not to observe this.
“Suppose we go into the conservatory;—you have never seen it. But put on something to keep you warm.”
He wrapped Mary's crimson garden-shawl over her head—clumsily enough, for Mr. Harper was not a “ladies' man;” his whole character and habits of life being in curious opposition to the extreme delicacy which Nature had externally stamped upon his appearance. Pausing, he held his wife at arm's length, gazing at her admiringly.
“Will that do? What a gipsy you look, with your red shawl and brown face!”
“Pawnee-face, you know! Do you remember how you once called me so, and how your brother”—
“Come, let us go,” he said abruptly, and hurried her through the drawing-rooms. Agatha was rather hurt that his aspect should change so cloudily, and that he should thus quench her little reminiscences of courtship-days, so dear to every happy wife, and gradually becoming dearer even to herself. As they entered the conservatory, she shivered with an uncomfortable sense of gloom.
“What a large, bare place! Even the vines look cheerless—and where have they put all the flowers? What a shame to send them away, and turn it into a billiard-room.”
“It was done years ago, to please—my brother”—(Agatha was amazed at the hard tone of that tender fraternal word—so can the sense of words alter in the saying)—“and my father will not have it removed.”
“He must have been very fond of your brother,” said Agatha, as, with a woman's natural leaning to the injured side, she thought of Major Harper—his gaiety and his good-nature. She wondered why Nathanael was so rigid and cold in his forced and rare mentioning of his brother's name. As she pondered, her eyes took a serious shadow in their depths.
“What are you thinking about, Agatha?”