“They don’t seem to have left you very cheerful,” ventured Miss Sally.
“Not so very damned cheerful!—I beg your pardon.”
Miss Sally’s moment of resentment had passed. Now was the time to strike for herself. She thought she had hit on a clever plan of getting around to the matter.
“Captain,” said she, “you’re a man of the world. I know it’s presumptuous of me to ask it, but—if you would give me a word of advice—”
Peyton did not take his look from the fire, or his thoughts from their dismal absorption. He answered, half-unconsciously:
“Oh, certainly! Anything at all.”
“You are aware, of course,” she went on, with smirking, rosy confusion, “that Mr. Valentine is a widower.”
“Indeed? Oh, yes, yes, I know.”
“Yes, a widower twice over.”
“How sad! He must feel twice the usual amount of grief.”