“Don’t—don’t speak of him.”
“Yes, yes; he is your husband, and you must try to win him over to you by gentleness, instead of being a little angry tyrant.”
“Clairy!”
“Yes, but you can be,” said Claire playfully, as she pressed her lips upon the soft, flossy hair. “I can remember how these little hands used to beat at me, and the little tearful eyes flash anger at me in the old times.”
Just then Denville entered the room softly, with a weary, dissatisfied air; but, as he stood in the doorway unnoticed, his whole aspect changed, and the tears stood in his eyes.
“God bless them!” he said fervently; and then, as he saw May raise her head, and look excitedly in her sister’s face, he stepped forward.
“Well, little bird,” he said, bending down to kiss May’s forehead, “back once more in the old nest?”
Claire looked searchingly at him as she rose from her knees; and then she sighed as she saw May fling herself into her father’s arms.
“There, there, I shall make the head ache again,” he said, with a calm, restful smile upon his lips, such as Claire had not seen for months.
“How he loves her!” she thought; and then another idea flashed through her breast. Suppose May knew!