“Kate,” said I, to the servant “show the lady all the rooms.”
Kate stared, for I’d never trusted her, or any other girl, with such important work, and she knew it. She went though, followed by the lady, who, though she seemed a weak, silly sort of thing, I hated with all my might. Then I turned quickly, and said:
“Don’t you want a room for your wife, too, George Perry?”
He stared at me a moment, and then turned pale and looked confused. Then he tried to rally himself, and he said:
“You seem to know me, ma’am.”
“Yes,” said I; “and I know Mrs. Perry, too; and if ever a woman needed her husband she does now, even if her husband is a rascal.”
He tried to be angry, but he couldn’t. He walked up and down the room once or twice, his face twitching all the time, and then he said, a word or two at a time:
“I wish I could—poor girl!—God forgive me!—what can I do?—I wish I was dead!”
“You wouldn’t be any use to anybody then but the Evil One, George Perry, and you’re not ready to see him just yet,” said I.
Just then there came a low, long groan from the backroom, and at the same time some one came into the parlor. I was too excited to notice who it was; and George Perry, when he heard the groan, stopped short and exclaimed: