"Amy is not here," she said, looking round.
"No. I am alone, and rather tired of my solitude, with a don't-care feeling of being left any longer by myself just creeping over me."
"I thought Amy had been with you, or I should have been here before. Ah! I see she has been, by the fresh flowers on the table. She is always thinking of you, my son; her love always in her heart."
Robert moved impatiently. Had every one combined together to din his wife's love into his ears? Was he the victim of a conspiracy? So he replied, touchily.
"Amy is kind enough, and I dare say I am an ungrateful wretch."
"Not ungrateful; but you might be a little, just a little, more loving to her sometimes. She is such a loving, sweet young wife."
"You think she loves me?"
Mrs. Archer laughed. "Are you in earnest, my son?" she asked.
"Never more so in my life," was the reply.
His mother looked at him almost reproachfully.