"Come, let us walk down
to Mr. Wright's; I bet a hat we'll find the young gentleman eating a
late supper with an excellent appetite. Love doesn't kill, Mrs.,
Richie--at Sam's age."
She was silent.
William took his lantern out of a closet, and made a somewhat
elaborate matter of lighting it, wiping off the oozing oil from the
tank, and then shutting the frame with a cheerful snap. It would give
her time to get hold of herself, he thought.
"I must apologize to Mrs. King," Helena said. "I was so frightened,
that I'm afraid I was abrupt."
"Oh, that's all right," said Martha's husband, easily, and opened the
outer door of the office. "Come."
She followed him down the garden path to the street: there in the
darkness, broken by the gay zigzag of the lantern across the
flagstones of the sidewalk, William found it easier to speak out:
"I hope you don't mind my referring to Sam's being in love, Mrs.
Richie? Of course, we have all known that he had lost his heart. Boys
will, you know. And, honestly, I think if ever a boy had excuse for--
that sort of thing, Sam had. But it has distressed me to have you
bothered. And to-night is the climax. For him to talk like a--a jack-
donkey, because you very properly snubbed him--you mustn't mind my
speaking plainly; I have understood the whole thing from the
beginning--makes me mad. You're really worn out. Confound that boy!
You are too good, Mrs.
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