She closed her eyes as if asleep, her hands folded neatly on her abdomen. Still, one never could tell. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine. She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house. I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky.
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