“Ah, I thought I was going to be the greatest actress once!” Annie says, rather slowly.
“Then he has fulfilled his ambition, and you have given up yours unfulfilled. Don’t you regret it just a little? Come—be candid!”
Lilian speaks in a low voice, meant only for her sister-in-law’s ear. Annie hesitates, looking down at the fire with an expression which it is not easy to read.
She is startled by finding her husband’s hand laid quietly on her shoulder. He has overheard these last words of Lilian’s, notices his wife’s reluctance to answer, and leaves his seat to speak to her.
“Are you sorry you are not the wife of a great actor instead of a plain country gentleman, Annie?”
“No, not in the least; I never thought of such a thing.”
“Then why are you looking so thoughtful?”
“Any news of people one has known well and lost sight of sets one thinking.”
“I could give you some more news of him but that I am afraid it would make you sad.”
“Never mind; I should like to hear it. Go on.”