"No; they are too far behind, and seem engrossed with each other's conversation. Look here, Langley, we are old friends, and you know all our troubles, and I tell you truly, things are getting worse every day."
Langley's pale face turned paler, but she made no answer.
"Sometimes I think if I could only see Gertrude happy and contented I should not mind what became of me; I wear out my heart to please her. I do not think she has ever heard a harsh word from me since I married her; can any husband do more?"
"No, indeed; you are good, very good, to her," was the almost inaudible reply.
"And yet it has come to this, that I have no wife and no home, for without sympathy how can one be said to possess either. If she would only greet me with a smile sometimes; if she had a kind word for me or this child; but you heard what she said just now. She is a sensitive little creature, and I fully believe her mother's indifference pains her."
"Harry, indeed, indeed, you must not be hard upon Gertrude; if you only knew how she suffers."
"Do I not know it? She will not be long with us, my poor Gertie, I am sure of that; she is wasting every day, Langley; Dr. Marshall says so. That is what makes it so bitter to think there can be no peace now. If I could only make her happy; if I could be sure that she has not repented of marrying me; but sometimes I think that if I had left her amongst her own people she would not be pining herself to death as she is now."
A look of intense pain crossed Langley's face.
"You must not think that."
"But how am I to help it, when I see her drooping and wasting before my eyes, my own wife, whom I have sworn to cherish? Sometimes I dread that she will tell me so; and then, how am I to bear it?"