“I was looking over some trunks in the attic to-day, and I came across my wedding gown. It called up so much! I can’t get over it—” and she sobbed aloud.
I couldn’t speak just then. The tears were too near.
“Oh, when first I wore that gown, how happy I was, and how I looked forward to the future! Everything was bright then, but now it’s so changed that I’d hardly know it was the same—it isn’t the same—I’m not the same, either——”
Here she broke down again.
I leaned over, and laid my hand on hers. You know she wasn’t really there; the real Mrs. Purblind seldom talked over her affairs with me, but I could feel what she was suffering, none the less.
“I want to tell you something, if I may,” I said.
She assented in a dumb sort of fashion, and I leaned a little nearer.
The firelight gleamed on the walls, and in its glow the pictures looked down kindly upon us. Soft shadows rested in the corners of the room, and an air of peace and comfort brooded throughout, as a bird upon her nest.
“Think a little while,” I said gently; “think of his side. Is he quite the same as he was when he married?”
“Oh, no!” she exclaimed; “he was so loving and attentive then.”