“I did not mean to be inquisitive, Bab, forgive me,” she said softly. “I think I must have been thinking of the old days in Europe when we used to share one another’s confidences. We were more intimate even than sisters when we were together out there.”
Then Nona laughed as if she were making the most inconceivable suggestion in the world:
“Anyhow I don’t suppose anything serious has happened. You are not leaving Dick and you would have told me if the baby was not well.”
At this speech Barbara Thornton’s entire expression and manner changed. Nona saw that her eyes were wide open and that there was a deeper look of pain in them than she had so far realized.
“No,” Barbara answered her quietly; “but then Dick is leaving me, so perhaps it amounts to the same thing. And I did not believe we could ever disagree on any subject after we were married.”
CHAPTER II
Another Volunteer
NEVERTHELESS, on that same evening, a little before midnight, seeing Barbara Thornton and her husband, Richard Thornton, together, one could not believe that the difference between them had been a serious one.
Barbara was sitting on the arm of her husband’s chair with her feet crossed and slowly swinging them back and forth. She was so small that this did not appear either unnatural or undignified. The brown hair, which a few years ago had been the trial of her life because it was so absurdly short and curling like a young boy’s, was now braided and tied with rose-colored ribbons, and Barbara wore a light silk dressing gown over her night dress.
Nevertheless her expression was no less serious, her eyes no further from tears than they were a few hours before when she had talked with Nona Davis.
“So you have decided, Dick, to do what you said, although you know it is against my judgment, and you promised to love, honor and protect me only a short time ago. It is a strange way to keep your word to leave the baby and me so soon. But I don’t suppose we count.”