"And he will be back soon?" I said, reverting to Mr. Carville.
"Saturday he says; but it may not be till Monday. If bad weather Monday ... Tuesday ... I cannot tell."
"I see," I said. "I hope we shall see him then. He was telling us ..." I paused. It occurred to me that she would hardly care to be apprised of what her husband had been telling us—"of his early life," I ended lamely.
"Of me?" She asked the question with eyes gazing out toward the blue ridge of the Orange Mountains, without curiosity or anger. I felt sheepish.
"Something," I faltered. She turned once more to glance in my direction. I was surprised at the mildness of her expression. Almost she smiled. At any rate her lips parted.
"He is a good man," she said softly, and added as she turned away, "Good afternoon."