He paused, and looking into her eyes, asked:
“What would you do, if some great trouble should come to you?”
“Trouble? Surely no danger threatens us, Donald. You alarm me, what harm can come to us?”
He was about to speak, but checked himself, and turning on his heel, hastily left the room.
Donald was naturally of a buoyant disposition, and extremely popular in business and social circles: but of late he had grown moody and taciturn, and there was a marked change in his demeanour toward Dainty.
She believed that her husband adored her, and if his preoccupied and distracted manner sometimes raised a query in her mind, it was too short-lived to warrant any serious thought, and she quickly banished it. She was fond of her husband in a childlike, cooing way, and it was her delight to wind her arms about his neck, and, with a gentle twittering sound, like a dove caressing its mate, ask the question that every woman asks (who is sure of the answer): “Do you love me?”—and wait to hear the low, responsive sigh, or receive a fond embrace. This unusual question of Donald’s alarmed her, and she stole softly into the adjoining room where she found Donald nervously pacing the floor.
His face was pale and his eyes glistened with a hunted expression. Laying her hand on his arm, she said:
“What is it that worries you, Donald?” He started and stammered: “Nothing—except a little business annoyance.”
She saw a letter in his hand, bearing a foreign postmark, and gave it a questioning glance, to which he replied:
“A letter I have received from Amsterdam. There is a heavy decline in the diamond market.”