"What was the amount?" she asks coldly.
"Only three hundred dollars; and he said it would oblige him, as at the end of three months he would get some money owing him. Of course it will be all right you know," replied her brother in an off-hand tone, which he is far from feeling, for the man Fanchon has long been losing ground in public favor; and rumor said, if it were not for the senior partner, Litchfield, the business would be done.
Miss Litchfield looks out the window, as she says slowly:
"You may be sorry, some day, that you did not take my advice. You know I warned you about your marriage; you scorned my advice then; you know now how it has turned out. All I can say is, it will be your own fault either way, good or otherwise."
Mr. Litchfield gets up from his seat at the table.
"Adeline,"—his face is very pale as he stands before his sister—"let what has passed rest. You have been a most faithful, affectionate sister to me, and aunt to my girls, but from you, nor no one else living, shall I take a word of disrespect about my wife." Then Miss Adeline hears the door close, and she is alone.
"Well," she says, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle in her apron, "I am terribly afraid Edward is getting a softness in the head; any man that could feel no reproach against a woman who has wronged any one, as Estelle Litchfield has wronged my poor brother, beats me more than words can express."
The white curtains flap idly in and out at the windows; a white and yellow butterfly comes in to light among the pink roses and white lilies in the glass dish on the table. Zoe's voice comes from somewhere in the garden, scolding her pet kitten for disgracing himself by persisting in chasing imaginary flies over the flower beds. Jet Glen is whistling "The girl I left behind me," somewhere near. Aunt Adeline hears the happy young voices and sighs. Her brother's business has not gone altogether straight lately; she does her best to keep his spirits up, but sometimes her own heart nearly fails with anxious forebodings for the future.
"Edward seems to lose the use of all his faculties," Miss Litchfield soliloquises. "There was that wealthy Mrs.—I won't say her name—but any one could see with half an eye—was only waiting to change her name to ours. Her money would have done wonders for Edward, but no one knew what had become of Estelle, and so for the sake of her my poor brother must needs lose all the chances that appear, and lose his health worrying over his business affairs, seems too bad entirely."
An enquiring fly lights on the tip of Miss Litchfield's aristocratic Roman nose. Now this is something appalling; never does she allow a single poor stray fly to remain in those cool, shady rooms. The next half hour is spent in ousting the enemy, and after that length of time the viper is finally vanquished.