“Yes, very. And he has such a sweet voice.”
Her husband’s voice, for the moment not at all sweet, uttered a growling protest.
“And Mr. Cooke? He is not handsome, but he is charming. Don’t you like him? Oh, I know you must, for I saw that you had marked his name in a critique in your paper!”
Annie blushed as she answered that he was very nice, too, and very clever; she had an uneasy feeling that her husband was glaring at her across the table and noting her change of color.
During the few minutes which remained of the ladies’ stay in the dining-room, Harry never took his eyes off his wife’s face; and she was conscious of this, though she did not once look at him.
In the drawing-room Lilian was quite affectionate.
“You were always a good little girl; but I had no idea you would bloom into such a clever woman,” said she, with her white hands on the shoulders of the smaller woman.
“How—clever?” asked Annie, laughing.
“Why, at keeping your own counsel! But you may trust me. There is always some one nicer than one’s husband, and when one’s husband is Harry! I think your discretion does you great credit. As soon as I heard you were on the stage, I tried to find out who it was that had induced you to go on, or to remain on; and you had been so very discreet that nobody could link your name with any other. And it was not until I mentioned those two names at dinner that I found you out. And nobody could have seen you wince but me. I am very clear-sighted in these matters.”
“Indeed!” said Annie, calmly. “And may I know which of my fellow-actors I am dying for love of?”