"I mean my—husband was so much older than I," she said. Then with an evident effort to change the subject she added that one would think it would be simple enough to be happy; "all my life I only wanted to be happy," she said.
"You're happy now, aren't you?" he asked,
She looked down at him—he was sitting on a stool before the fire near her feet—and laughed with a catching of the breath. "Oh, yes, yes; I'm happy."
And Sara caught his breath too, for there were tears in her eyes.
But instantly she veered away from personalities. "What is that scar on your wrist?"
Sam looked down at his hands clasped about his knees, and blushed faintly. "Oh, nothing; I was very young when that happened."
"How did it happen?" she asked absently. It was often possible to start
Sam talking and then think her own thoughts without interruption.
"Why, I was about twelve, I believe," Sam said, "and Miss Ellen Bailey—she used to teach school here, then she got married and went out West;—she gave me a little gold image of Pasht, at least I thought it was gold. It was one of those things you ladies wear on your watch-chains, you know."
"Yes?" she said indolently.
"Well, I took a tremendous fancy to it. But it seems it wasn't gold, it was brass, and somebody told me so; I think it was Miss Ellen herself. I was so disappointed, I didn't want to live—queer! I can remember now just how I felt; a sort of sinking, here;" Sam laid his hand on his breast, "So I decided to throw myself out of the window. I did; but unfortunately—"