As he performed this little office with his customary deftness, she regarded him with more care than was of late usual with her.
Since one particular interview, she had hardly been able to look at him without remembering that he had told her that he had never loved her. As she had not a particle of what she called love left for him, it was rather surprising that this remembrance should so rankle in her mind. And he did not betray—worse than that, she was sure he did not feel—the slightest irritation that she was so much with Lord Maxwell of late. How very disagreeable he was! And she had loved him; yes, she had certainly loved him even before the spice of the attempt to get him away from his betrothed was added to that feeling.
She lingered a moment after her gloves were fastened, still gazing at her companion.
"What do you think of a separation?" she asked.
He looked at her quickly. "I had not thought," he answered.
"Please think, then. You let me have the crow, and a generous allowance, and I'll go my way. There seems no reason why life should be so extremely disagreeable as it has been of late. Good-by. Don't get too tired, and don't forget your medicine."
She opened the door and left the room. She returned immediately to say that she had promised Devil he might go with her to-day. She chirruped, and the bird hopped out of the door, which was closed again.
Lawrence stood in the window and saw the two ride away on their wheels, the crow flying along leisurely after them, alighting occasionally to investigate something on the ground. He saw his wife turn and call Devil just before she wheeled out of sight.
It seemed to Lawrence that he was always standing in the window watching his wife go somewhere; and always she was gay and spirited, and people liked to be with her.
There was that long, light-colored Englishman,—was there any truth in the talk about him and Miss Ffolliott? It would be rather a curious thing if Prudence should take two lovers from Carolyn.