She gave herself another little shake,—then murmured irrelevantly,—
“Poor Jack!”
A sigh escaped her, and she went on talking to herself.
“Poor Jack! He’s not clever—no!—he often says the stupidest things!—but—ah!—he wouldn’t hurt any one for all the world! I think—yes, I’m sure!—I’d rather have a kind husband than a clever one!”
She lost herself in meditation for a while. All at once she heard a tap at her door.
“Come in!” she said.
And the Philosopher made his appearance.
“Where’s my pipe?” he asked.
Amazed at his cool effrontery she looked at him, hardly knowing whether to laugh, or to order him out of the room.
“Come, come!” he went on testily. “You know where everything is in the house and if anything is mislaid you can generally find it. I’ve lost my pipe—it’s not in my coat pocket and I don’t think I left it on the seat by the river this afternoon—I might have done so—”