Agatha could give no answer, for, to her great thankfulness, her husband had hitherto avoided the subject. She looked at him for a reply.
“I think, Mrs. Thornycroft, it will probably be three months before I”—he smilingly corrected himself, and said “we return to Canada.”
“Then what do you intend to do meanwhile? Of course, Agatha dear, you will remain in London?”
“Oh yes,” she replied, accustomed to decide for herself, and forgetting at the moment that there was now another to whose decision she was bound to defer. Blushing, she looked towards her husband, who was talking to Mr. Thornycroft. He turned, as indeed he always did when he heard her speaking; but he made no remark, and the “Yes” passed as their mutual assent to Emma's question.
“I know a place that would just suit you,” pursued the latter; “that is, if you take a furnished house.”
“I should like it much.”
“It is but a cottage—rather small, considering your means; by-the-by, Agatha, how close our friend the Major kept all your affairs. No one imagined you were so rich.”
“Neither did I, most certainly. But—the cottage.”
“The prettiest little place imaginable. Such a love of a drawing-room! I went there to call on young Northen's sister when she married, last year. Poor thing—sad affair that, my dear.”
“Indeed,” said Agatha, who now felt an interest in all stories of marriages.