"Oh, because I am—a very quiet person," she stammered.
The dining-room door opened and Sarah came in, looked about, found the decanter, and withdrew.
"Where is—that gentleman?" the old man demanded.
"Mr. Pryor went in to dinner," she said faintly. "Please excuse him; he was tired."
The silence that fell between them was like a blow. … Mr. Wright pulled himself to his feet, and with one shaking hand on the table felt his way around until he stood directly in front of her; he put his face close to hers and stared into her eyes, his lower lip opening and closing in silence. Then, without speaking, he began to grope about on the table for his hat and stick.
"I will bid you good day," he said.
Without another word he went shuffling out into the dark hall. At the front door he turned and looked back at her; then, slowly, shook his head.
CHAPTER VI
Poor Maggie paid for her good nature. On Sunday morning she was so decidedly worse that William King, to the disgust of his Martha, was summoned from his breakfast-table.
"Women who can't look after a simple sore throat without bothering their doctors are pretty inefficient creatures," she said coldly.