"It is a sweet remembrance, now." Her voice grows clearer. "They tell me I did wrong to mourn so bitterly. I suppose I did. Mr. Chalmers, I should like to entertain you on your recovery. How singular! This is our old family drug store! Didn't Dr. Floddin keep here? Poor Dr. Floddin! Oh! David! David! Good-bye, Mr. Chalmers."
"He's not badly hurt at all," says Corkey, "you mustn't worry over that."
"I'm so glad, Mr. Corkey."
It is the autumn of a great misery. The woman is righting herself. She is trying to listen to the advice of society. Lockwin, by dying, committed a crime against the first circles. "A failure to live is a gigantic failure," says Mrs. Grundy.
David Lockwin listens to every movement. The widow tarries.
"Send me a dozen large bottles of that extract," she says, choosing a variety of odors. She orders a munificent bill of fancy goods. The clerk moves with astonishing celerity.
The patient suppresses his groans.
"Oh! Chalmers is well off," says Corkey.
"I'm glad," says Esther, "poor man! Good-bye, Mr. Corkey. You are neglecting me lately. I hope you will be elected. I wish I could vote. Oh, yes, I guess the clerk may give me a stock of white notepaper. Do you believe it, Mr. Corkey, I haven't a scrap about the house that isn't mourning paper! Yes, that will do. Send plenty. Good-bye. Come over and tell me about politics. Tell me something that will make life seem pleasant. I'm tired of my troubles. I think I'm forgetting David. Good-bye."