And when an hour or so afterward dinner was announced, John Temple smilingly offered one arm to Mrs. Temple and the other to May.
“I must do double duty to-night, you see,” he said; and when they reached the dining-room he deliberately led Mrs. Temple to the head of the table, and indicated to May to sit at the side. But Mrs. Temple drew back.
“Nay,” she said, “this is your wife’s place.”
“Certainly not,” answered John Temple, decidedly; “this is your place, as it always has been.”
Mrs. Temple said nothing more at this time; she sat opposite to John, and May, without any feeling of anger in her heart, took the chair her husband had assigned to her. She was looking very pretty, but somehow Mrs. Temple could not understand the expression of her face. There was no elation there, nor pride in her new position. Now when the first nervousness of her arrival was over, she looked very much as she had done in the wards at St. Phillip’s.
But there were no allusions made to the past. John talked of Brighton, and of the theaters they had gone to in town, and to all outward seeming this first evening at Woodlea might have been an ordinary home-coming of a young couple from their bridal tour. But hidden in the hearts of the three present was the knowledge that this was not so. The storm was over, but its trace was there.
And the next morning a little incident occurred, which struck a somewhat chill feeling into May’s heart. Breakfast was just over, and as John Temple rose from the table, he said pleasantly, looking at Mrs. Temple:
“And how are you two going to amuse yourselves to-day?”
“In any manner you like, or that Mrs. John Temple likes,” answered Mrs. Temple.
“If you do not mind, John,” said May, rather quickly, “I should like to go over to Woodside this morning to see my father, as I think he will expect me to do so. And,” she added, with rather a wistful little smile, looking up in his face, “I hope you will come with me.”