"Whom did he marry?"
"Yes. Who was she before she married?"
"I always heard she was nobody," Tom answered, with something between a grunt and a groan.
"Nobody! But that's nonsense. I haven't seen a woman with more style in a great while."
"Style!" echoed Tom, and his word would have had a sharp addition if he had not been speaking to his wife; but Tom was before all things a gentleman. As it was, his tone would have done honour to a grisly bear somewhat out of temper.
"Yes," repeated Mrs. Caruthers. "You may not know it, Tom, being a man; but I know what I am saying; and I tell you Mrs. Dillwyn has very distinguished manners. I hope we may see a good deal of them."
Meanwhile Lois was standing still where they had left her, in front of the fire; looking down meditatively into it. Her face was grave, and her abstraction for some minutes deep. I suppose her New England reserve was struggling with her individual frankness of nature, for she said no word, and Mr. Dillwyn, who was watching her, also stood silent. At last frankness, or affection, got the better of reserve; and, with a slow, gentle motion she turned to him, laying one hand on his shoulder, and sinking her face upon his breast.
"Lois! what is it?" he asked, folding his arms about her.
"Philip, it smites me!"
"What, my darling?" he said, almost startled. And then she lifted up her face and looked at him.