"My dear! But about Hartledon—if you fancy that, and nowhere else, I suppose we must go there."
"You also?"
"Of course."
"Ah! when your wife's chord of life is loosening what model husbands you men become!" she uttered. "You have never gone to Hartledon with me; you have suffered me to be there alone, through a ridiculous reminiscence; but now that you are about to lose me you will go!"
"Why do you encourage these gloomy thoughts about yourself, Maude?" he asked, passing over the Hartledon question. "One would think you wished to die."
"I do not know," she replied in tones of deliberation. "Of course, no one, at my age, can be tired of the world, and for some things I wish to live; but for others, I shall be glad to die."
"Maude! Maude! It is wrong to say this. You are not likely to die."
"I can't tell. All I say is, I shall be glad for some things, if I do."
"What is all this?" he exclaimed, after a bewildered pause. "Is there anything on your mind, Maude? Are you grieving after that little infant?"
"No," she answered, "not for him. I grieve for the two who remain."