"She has been here! She looks so ill—so worn. Everything is so sad! I"—
She stopped and stood looking at him.
"Must I go away?" he said, quietly. "Perhaps you would prefer to be alone. I understand what you mean, I think."
"Oh, no!" she said, impulsively, putting out her hand. "Don't go. I am unhappy. It was—it was a relief to see you."
And when she sank on the sofa, he took a seat near her and laid the violets on her lap, and there was a faint flush on his face.
The little dinner, which was the first occasion of Senator Blundel's introduction to the Amory establishment, was a decided success.
"We will make it a success," Bertha had said. "It must be one." And there was a ring in her voice which was a great relief to her husband.
"It will be one," he said. "There is no fear of your failing when you begin in this way." And his spirits rose to such an extent that he became genial and fascinating once more, and almost forgot his late trials and uncertainties. He had always felt great confidence in Bertha.
On the afternoon of the eventful day Bertha did not go out. She spent the hours between luncheon and the time for dressing with her children. Once, as he passed the open door of the nursery, Richard saw her sitting upon the carpet, building a house of cards, while Jack, and Janey, and Meg sat about her enchanted. A braid of her hair had become loosened and hung over her shoulder; her cheeks were flushed by the fire; she looked almost like a child herself, with her air of serious absorbed interest in the frail structure growing beneath her hands.
"Won't that tire you?" Richard asked.