“She didn’t strike me as affected,” Waterville demurred, feeling a vague impulse to view her in becoming lights.
“Oh no; she’s only—as she says—fearfully changed.”
They were in their places before the play went on again, and they both gave another glance at Mrs. Headway’s box. She now was leaning back behind the slow movements of her fan and evidently watching Littlemore as if she had waited to see him come in. Sir Arthur Demesne sat beside her, rather gloomily resting a round pink chin upon a high stiff collar; neither of them seemed to speak.
“Are you sure she makes him happy?” Waterville asked.
“Yes—that’s the way those people show it.”
“But does she go about alone with him at that rate? Where’s her husband?”
“I suppose she has divorced him.”
“And does she want to marry the Baronet?” Waterville went on as if his companion was omniscient.
It amused Littlemore for the moment to appear so. “He wants to marry her, I guess.”
“And be divorced like the others?”