Mrs. Abbott quickly and hopefully, her
face brightening.

'Yes. But there's nothing satisfactory in it. He writes from Liverpool,
and merely says that the children are at his lodgings, and he can do no
more for them.'

Mrs. Abbott set her lips in an expression almost of sullenness. Rolfe
had never seen her look thus, but it confirmed a suspicion which he had
harboured concerning her. Why, he hardly knew--for she always presented
a face of amiability, and talked in gentle, womanly tones--doubt as to
Abbott's domestic felicity haunted his mind. Perhaps he now saw her,
for the first time, as she commonly appeared to her husband--slightly
peevish, unwilling to be disturbed, impatient when things did not run
smoothly.

'You saw my husband yesterday?' was her next remark, not very
graciously uttered.

'We met in the street last night--before I got Wager's letter. He was
suffering horribly from neuralgia.'

Harvey could not forbear to add this detail, but he softened his voice
and smiled.

'I don't wonder at it,' returned the lady; 'he takes no care of
himself.'

Harvey glanced about the room. Its furnishing might be called
luxurious, and the same standard of comfort prevailed through the
house. Considering that Edgar Abbott, as Rolfe knew, married on small
means, and that he had toiled unremittingly to support a home in which
he could seldom enjoy an hour's leisure, there seemed no difficulty in
explaining this neglect of his own health. It struck the visitor that
Mrs. Abbott might have taken such considerations into account, and have
spoken of the good fellow more sympathetically. In truth, Harvey did
not quite like Mrs. Abbott. Her age was about seven and twenty. She
came of poor folk, and had been a high-school teacher; very clever and
successful, it was said, and Harvey could believe it. Her features were
regular, and did not lack sweetness; yet, unless an observer were
mistaken, the last year or two had emphasised a certain air of
conscious superiority, perchance originating in the schoolroom. She had
had one child; it struggled through a few months of sickly life, and
died of convulsions during its mother's absence at a garden-party. To
all appearances, her grief at the loss betokened tenderest feeling.
When, in half a year's time, she again came forth into the world, a
change was noted; her character seemed to have developed a new energy,
she exhibited wider interests, and stepped from the background to
bec