Mrs. Henderson balanced her spoon on the edge of her cup while her husband read the paragraph aloud to her.
"You don't suppose," she said, as if it might be an interesting even if regrettable possibility, "that I—that our affair—had anything to do with it?"
"If it did," admitted her husband, with the air of not thinking it likely, but probably served him right, "it has taken a long time to get at him. Two years, isn't it, since you threw him over for a better man?"
"Oh, I'm not so sure of your being a better man, Bertie; I liked you better——"
Mr. Burton Henderson accepted his wife's amendment with complacency.
"I don't believe Weatheral appreciated the distinction. Men like that have a sort of money crust that prevents the ordinary perceptions from getting through to them." This illustration appeared on second thoughts so illuminating that it carried him a little further. "Perhaps that's the reason it has taken him so long to tumble after he has been hit; it has just got through to him. It would be interesting to know, though, if he is still a little in love with you."
There was a fair amount of speculation in Mr. Burton Henderson's tone that did not appear to have its seat in any apprehension.
"Just as if you rather hoped it," his wife protested.
"Well, I was only wondering if his health is so bad as the papers say—it seldom is, you know—but if he were to go off all of a sudden one of these days, whether he mightn't take it into his head now to leave you a legacy."
"I don't believe it was personal enough with Peter for that. It wasn't me he wanted so much as just to be married. And, besides, I did come down on him rather hard." Mrs. Burton Henderson smiled a little reminiscently as if she still saw herself in the process of coming down on Peter and thought rather well of it.