"I should have to think about that," she answered, with a twinkle in her eyes.
Will paused a moment, then asked in a shamefaced way:
"Did you suspect anything of the sort?"
Bertha moved her head as if to reply, but after all, kept silence. Thereupon Warburton stood up and clutched his hat.
"Will you let me see you again—soon? May I come some afternoon in this week, and take my chance of finding you at home?—Don't answer. I shall come, and you have only to refuse me at the door. It's only—an importunate tradesman."
Without shaking hands, he turned and left the room.
Dreamily he walked homewards; dreamily, often with a smile upon his face, he sat through the evening, now and then he pretended to read, but always in a few minutes forgetting the page before him. He slept well; he arose in a cheerful but still dreamy, mood; and without a thought of reluctance he went to his day's work.
Allchin met him with a long-drawn face, saying: "She's dead, sir." He spoke of his consumptive sister-in-law, whom Warburton had befriended, but whom nothing had availed to save.
"Poor girl," said Will kindly. "It's the end of much suffering."
"That's what I say, sir," assented Allchin. "And poor Mrs. Hopper, she's fair worn out with nursing her. Nobody can feel sorry."