"Oh, Mr. Herrick, what's the matter?" Toni was frightened by his pallor.
"Nothing—nothing!" He shook off his mental disturbance with a strong effort. "I ... I sometimes have a sort of pain—in my heart—but it's gone, quite gone, now."
Toni was not altogether satisfied with the explanation and asked herself remorsefully what she had said to vex him; but she could not think of anything which would be likely to give offence to her host, and decided, finally, that he had spoken truthfully.
She could not know how intimately the tragedy of Herrick's life was bound up with the thought of a string of shining pearls; and her very unconsciousness served to show the man she had spoken in all innocence.
"Your husband must be very busy with this review in hand," he said presently, remembering Barry's entreaty to him to examine the situation for himself. "Does he work at home or has he to spend much time in town?"
"Oh, he does both," she said, relieved by his return to his former manner. "He is in town to-day, but he has been at home a good deal lately."
"I see. It must be rather dull for you when he is shut up writing," he went on tentatively. "Writers and men of letters generally like to be left to themselves pretty much."
"Oh, I don't think my husband does," said Toni blithely. "I often go in and sit with him while he works, and if I promise to go to bed early he sometimes brings his papers into the drawing-room at night."
Herrick felt a sudden spasm of amusement, mingled with a distinct impulse of sympathy for the unfortunate writer.
"Oh! I should have thought it would be too disturbing to work in the room with anyone else—even one's wife," he added with a smile.