“Oh—it’s nothing! I’m so foolish, you know. It’s silly of me. Sit down.”
“What is it, dear?” asked Katharine, affectionately, as she sat down beside Hester upon a little sofa. “Have you and he been quarrelling?”
“Quarrelling!” Hester laughed gaily. “No, indeed. That’s impossible! No—we were all by ourselves—Walter was singing over his work, and I was just lying amongst the cushions and listening and thinking how heavenly it was—and that stupid Mr. Griggs came in and spoiled it all. So I came away in disgust. I was so angry, just for a minute—I could have killed him!”
“Poor dear!” Katharine could not help smiling at the story.
“Oh, of course, you laugh at me. Everybody does. But what do I care? I love him—and I love his voice, and I love to be all alone with him up there under the sky—and at night, too, when there’s a full moon—you have no idea how beautiful it is. And then I always think that the snowy days, when I can’t go out on foot, belong especially to me. You’re different—I knew you were coming at eleven—but that horrid Mr. Griggs!”
“Poor Mr. Griggs! If he could only hear you!”
“Walter pretends to like him. That’s one of the few points on which we shall never agree. There’s nothing against him, I know, and he’s rather modest, considering how he has been talked about—and all that. But one doesn’t like one’s husband’s old friends to come—bothering—you know, and getting in the way when one wants to be alone with him. Oh, no! I’ve nothing against the poor man—only that I hate him! How are you, dearest, after the ball, last night? You seemed awfully tired when I brought you home. As for me, I’m worn out. I never closed my eyes till Walter came home—he danced the cotillion with your mother. Didn’t you think he was looking ill? I did. There was one moment when I was just a little afraid that—you know—that something might happen to him—as it did the other day—did you notice anything?”
“No,” answered Katharine, thoughtfully. “He’s naturally pale. Don’t you think that just happened once, and isn’t likely to occur again? He’s been perfectly well ever since Monday, hasn’t he?”
“Oh, yes—perfectly. But you know it’s always on my mind, now. I want to be with him more than ever. I suppose that accounts for my being so angry with poor Mr. Griggs. I think I’d ask him to stay to luncheon if I were sure he’d go away the minute it’s over. Shouldn’t you like to stay, dear? Shall I ask him? That will just make four. Do! I shall feel that I’ve atoned for being so horrid about him. I wish you would!”