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"If you will condescend to dwell as a member of my family beneath
my humble roof."
The irony was lost on her. She uttered a joyous little cry and
held out both her hands to me. Her eyes danced.
"Oh, I am glad he is not coming. I don't like him any more. I
love to stay here with you."
I took both the hands in mine. Mortal man could not have done
otherwise.
"Have you thought why it is that you will never see Harry again?"
She shook her beautiful head and held it to one side and puckered
up her brows, like a wistful terrier.
"Is he dead?"
"Would it grieve you, if he were?"
"No-o," she replied, thoughtfully.
"Then," said I, dropping her hands and turning away, "Harry is
dead."
She stood silent for a couple of minutes, regarding the row of
pink toes that protruded beneath the peignoir. At last her bosom
shook with a sigh. She glanced up at me sweetly.
"I am so glad," she said.

That is all she has vouchsafed to say with regard to the unhappy
young man. "She was so glad!" She has not even asked how he met
his death.


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