“How you love him!” she exclaimed, when the voice had died away, and Hester leaned back again in her seat.
The words were spoken impulsively and half unconsciously—the natural expression of the young girl’s wonder. But Hester’s eyes turned quickly, with a suspicious glance which Katharine did not see and could not have understood.
“Well—is there any harm in my loving my husband?” asked Hester, in a tone of unmistakable resentment.
Katharine turned and looked at her in surprise, not realizing that she could possibly have given offence.
“Harm! why no—no more harm than there is in my saying so—nor than I meant, when I spoke. Why, are you angry?”
“I’m not angry. Why did you say it, though—and just then? I want to know.”
She fixed her eyes on Katharine, and a little colour came back suddenly to her cheeks, just where it had been while Crowdie was singing—as a transparent glass, that has been heated red in the flame and has cooled, flushes where it had flushed before, almost as soon as it is brought to the fire.
“Why did I say it?” repeated Katharine, surprised. “I don’t know, I’m sure. It was a very natural remark. Everybody knows that you love your husband very much. I suppose it struck me particularly at that moment. How strange of you to take offence!”
“I’m not offended. I only want to know why you said it just then. Did I change colour—or what?”
“A little colour came into your face—yes. It’s very becoming,” added Katharine, by way of propitiation.