Lady Sarah Hope looked down the table at her sister. "Is Gerard in love with you, Frances?"
"In love with me!" exclaimed the young lady, her face flushing vividly. "What ridiculous fable will you imagine next, Sarah?"
"Is it a fable?" added Lady Sarah, struck with the flush.
"What else should it be?" laughed Frances. "Gerard could not think of falling in love upon nothing a-year. Nothing a-year, and find himself! That has been his case, poor fellow—or something akin to it."
"That may be remedied," remarked Lady Sarah. She had caught up an opinion upon the subject, and she held to it in the future.
As the small line of ladies filed out of the dining-room, Lady Sarah, walking first, turned just outside the door to wait for her sister Adela. Mr. Grubb, who was holding the door open, said something to his wife in an undertone as she passed him. Adela made no answer whatever; except that her lifted face put on a look of scorn, and her lips took a downward curve.
"What did your husband say to you?" asked Lady Sarah, having fancied that she heard her own name—Hope.
"I don't know—or care. As if I should listen to anything he might say!" contemptuously added Lady Adela.
Lady Sarah stared. "Why, child, what do you mean? He is your husband."
"To my cost."