"Not at the prospect of marriage, papa," the girl replied. "To look at Mr. Brooks and his wife is quite enough to make me serious."
"Brooks and his wife? What do you mean?"
"Perhaps I oughtn't to have said anything, but they appear to make each other miserable. There, now, I wish I hadn't said anything. I might have known that it would make you look glum."
"How do you know that they make each other miserable?"
"I know this, that when they should be on their good behavior they can't keep from snapping at each other. I was over there this afternoon, and when Mr. Brooks came home he began to growl about the preacher's coming once a week to pray for Mrs. Colton. He ought to be ashamed of himself. The poor old creature lies there so helpless; and he wants to deny her even the consolation of hearing her pastor's voice. And he knows that she was so devoted to the church."
"My daughter," Witherspoon gravely said, "there must be some mistake about this."
"But I know that there isn't any mistake about it. I was there, I tell you."
"And still there may be some mistake," Witherspoon insisted.
"What doctor's treating the old lady?" Henry asked.
"A celebrated specialist, Brooks tells me," Witherspoon answered.