She
had been very quiet with her other friends, and every one, looking at her
grief-stricken face, had shrunk from mentioning what would have called for
congratulation. Rose, who knew only these two, naturally dwelt on their
changed relations. Her husband! Her dormant love gave an exultant bound.
Wave upon wave of emotion beat upon her heart; she sprang to her feet; the
door opened, and he came in. He saw her standing faintly outlined in the
dark.
"Good-evening," he said, coming slowly toward her with extended hand; "have
you been quite well to-day?" He felt her fingers tremble in his close
clasp, and let them fall slowly. "Bob sent you these early violets. Shall
I light the gas?"
"If you will."
He turned from her and rapidly filled the room with light.
"Where is your mother?" he asked, turning toward her again. Her face was
hidden in the violets.
"Upstairs with Louis. They had something to arrange. Did you wish to see
her?" To judge from Ruth's manner, Kemp might have been a visitor.
"No," he replied. "If you will sit down, we can talk quietly till they
come in."
As she resumed her high-backed chair and he seated himself in another
before her, he was instantly struck by some new change in her face. The
faraway, impersonal look with which she had met him in these sad days had
been what he had expected, and he had curbed with a strong will every
impulse for any closer recognition.
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