Hattie's back was turned. "I—I suppose so," she answered, low.
"You suppose so!" Mrs. Balcome was shocked. "I must say, Hattie, you're taking this whole thing very calmly—very. And right in front of the boy's mother!"
"Sue is perfectly contented,"—it was Mrs. Milo once more—"perfectly happy. And besides, she's a little older than Mr. Farvel." This with a note of satisfaction.
Mrs. Balcome stroked the dog. "What's a year or two," she urged.
"Not in a man's life. But in a woman's, a year is like five—at Sue's time of life."
"Those make the happiest kind of marriages," persisted Mrs. Balcome; "—the very happiest."
Again Mrs. Milo's voice rose stridently. "Please drop the subject," she begged.
Mrs. Balcome struggled up. "Oh, very well. But you know, my dear, that a woman finds her real happiness in marriage. Because after all is said and done, marriage——"
"Mr. John Balcome," announced Dora, appearing from the vestibule.
As if knocked breathless by a blow, Mrs. Balcome cut short her sentence, went rigid, and clutched the loose coat of the poodle so tightly that four short legs stood out stiff, and two small eyes became mere slits.