“What did they mean? I didn’t understand them. They seemed to think there was something wrong about Mrs. Newbury.”
“I don’t know what they meant. But I didn’t like her looks at all. I wouldn’t want her for a friend.”
“They said something of Mr. Barclay too, didn’t they?”
“Yes; they said he was a fool and did as he was told.”
“Well,” said June, bristling, “those are just the two particular things about him I should think were not true. But there was some one that they said she—I suppose that meant Mrs. Newbury—owned body and soul. Whom do you suppose they meant?”
“Her husband,” said Rosamund promptly. “Whom else could they mean?”
June had felt depressed on the way home. At these words her depression suddenly vanished and she became wreathed in smiles. Thrusting her hand through Rosamund’s arm she gave it an affectionate squeeze, exclaiming with a sudden sputter of laughter,
“Well, if his soul isn’t a better specimen than his body I don’t think it’s much to own.”
Rosamund was shocked; she refused even to smile, as June, drooping against her shoulder, filled the silence of the sleeping house with the sound of her laughter.