"Of course, if you like," he said uncomfortably; yet she could see he was glad that she had broken that desolate silence.
Seated at a marble table—the place was nearly empty—she furtively watched his face in the glass, and what she saw there thrilled her. Some great sorrow had come to him. And she had been sulking! The girl in the orchard would have known at a glance. She would gently, tenderly, with infinite delicacy and the fine tact of a noble woman, have drawn his secret from him. She would have shared his sorrow, and shown herself "half wife, half angel from heaven" in this dark hour. Well, it was not too late. She could begin now. But how? He had ordered the tea, and her question was still unanswered. Yet she must speak. When she did her words did not fit the mouth of the girl in the orchard—but then it would have been May there, and this was January. She said—
"How frightfully cold it is!"
"Yes, isn't it?" he said.
The fine tact of a noble woman seemed to have deserted her. She resisted a little impulse
