She gave me a look the pathos of which I shall never forget.
“Say, young man,” she cried, “are you trying to break it to me gently? Because if so, I’d rather you told me straight out. What did he die of?”
“Then isn’t he dead?” I asked, “I mean so far as you know.”
“Never heard a word about his being dead till you started the idea,” she retorted. “So far as I know he’s alive and well.”
I said that I was sorry. I went on to explain that I did not mean I was sorry to hear that in all probability he was alive and well. What I meant was I was sorry I had introduced a painful subject.
“What’s a painful subject?”
“Why, your husband,” I replied.
“But why should you call him a painful subject?”
I had an idea she was getting angry with me. She did not say so. I gathered it. But I had to explain myself somehow.
“Well,” I answered, “I take it, you didn’t get on well together, and I am sure it must have been his fault.”