At length the door opened and Lawrence Newt came out. He was going toward the front door, when Mrs. Simcoe rose and went into the hall, and said, “Stop a moment!”
He turned, half smiled, but saw her face, and his own settled into its armor.
Mrs. Simcoe beckoned him toward the parlor; and as he went in she stepped to the library door and said, to avoid interruption,
“Hope, Mr. Newt and I are talking together in the parlor.”
Hope bowed, and made no reply. Mrs. Simcoe entered the other room and closed the door.
“Mr. Newt,” she said, in a low voice, “you can not wonder that I am anxious.”
He looked at her, and did not answer.
“I know, perhaps, more than you know,” said she; “not, I am sure, more than you suspect.”
Lawrence Newt was a little troubled, but it was only evident in the quiet closing and unclosing of his hand.
They stood for a few moments without speaking. Then she opened the miniature, and when she saw that he observed it she said, very slowly,