gayety that enchanted the more silent two, and the few hours when she was not with them seemed incomplete. On his mentioning this to her one afternoon she shot him a strange glance.
“But this is all wrong,” she said abruptly. “What will you do when I am gone in the winter?”
“What do you mean?” he asked. “Gone where, when, how?”
“My dear colonel,” she said lightly, but with an obvious effort, “do you imagine that I cannot leave you a honeymoon, in spite of my doting parenthood? I plan to spend the latter part of the winter in New York with friends. Perhaps by spring—”
“My dear Mrs. Leroy, how absurd! How cruel of you! What will Lady do? What shall I do? She has never been separated from you in her life. Does she know of this?”
“No; I shall tell her soon. As for what she will do—she will have her husband.
