“It does appear illogical,” she remarked in a voice that sounded cold and hard, even to herself. “It is curious how marriage seems to make every woman a match-maker. I’m sure that I, for one, can’t understand it.”
There was silence in the room for several moments. Gertrude and Harriet understood each other perfectly; but there is always a well-defined limit to frankness between two women, especially when one is married and the other not.
With studied composure, Gertrude asked indifferently, as she rose to go:—
“Have you seen Mr. Stoughton recently, Harriet?”
“Yes, he has called several times.”
“And you like him?”
“Very much. He is coming to-night, I believe. We are very good friends.”
With an impulsiveness that was not habitual with her, Gertrude bent and kissed her friend on the lips.
“Be careful, Harriet. Be careful,” she whispered, and then turned and left the room.