"Judging by my feelings, I should say not. I feel as if it was a last will and testament. But you'd better ask him when he comes."
"I can't bear to look at him."
"I guess he's used to that. He don't seem to expect to be looked at. Well! we're all just where we started. I wonder how long it will keep up."
Mrs. Lapham reported to her husband when he came home at night--he had left his business to go and meet her, and then, after a desolate dinner at the house, had returned to the office again--that Penelope was fully as bad as Irene. "And she don't know how to work it off. Irene keeps doing; but Pen just sits in her room and mopes. She don't even read. I went up this afternoon to scold her about the state the house was in--you can see that Irene's away by the perfect mess; but when I saw her through the crack of the door I hadn't the heart. She sat there with her hands in her lap, just staring. And, my goodness! she JUMPED so when she saw me; and then she fell back, and began to laugh, and said she, 'I thought it was my ghost, mother!' I felt as if I should give way."
Lapham listened jadedly, and answered far from the point. "I guess I've got to start out there pretty soon, Persis."
"How soon?"
"Well, to-morrow morning."
Mrs. Lapham sat silent. Then, "All right," she said. "I'll get you ready."
"I shall run up to Lapham for Irene, and then I'll push on through Canada. I can get there about as quick."
"Is it anything you can tell me about, Silas?"