the lamps were, to read or sew or even play patience. But she
lingered contentedly and all seemed to her as it should be, with the two
of them sitting near each other in their garden chairs before the family
door-stone, he smoking, she getting the benefit of it by now and then
fanning his smoke toward her face. She liked the odor.

They only spoke to each other, as is common with married people, when
they had something to say, and so were often silent for long spaces.
That they had talked a great deal lately in the seclusion of their
bedroom, away from the ears of the children, was a reason why they
should not be very communicative to-night. They had threshed out the
matter foremost in their minds so thoroughly that there could be little
to add. Now and then, however, when they were alone, scraps of
conversation would occur, part of the long discussion continued from day
to day; which fragments, isolated from their context, might have sounded
odd enough to any one overhearing.

Thus it was to-night. After half an hour without a syllable, Mrs. Foss's
voice came out of the dark.

"When I was a young girl, there was a music-master, Jerome," she opened,
with no more preface than a shooting-star. "I don't know that he was
particularly fascinating, but he seemed so to me. I suppose he was
thirty, I was seventeen or eighteen. It was during my year at Miss
Meiggs's. Whether he really did anything to win my young affections I
can't tell at this distance, but at the time I imagined all sorts of
things, that he looked at me differently from the other girls, that his
voice was different when he addressed me, that an extreme delicacy was
all that kept him from declaring his love. Oh, I used to wish on the
first star, and I used to pull daisies to pieces, and I practiced, how I
practiced! Well, there was a rich girl in the school, older than I and
not nearly so good looking. The moment she graduated he proposed to her.
How did I feel? Jerome, the sun went out for good and all the day I
heard of their engagement. It was as serious as anything could ever be
in this world.--I'm sure I have told you about that music-master before,
Jerome.--Well, and what happened? At the age of twenty-two I cheerfully
married you. And I was not a scarred and burnt-out crater either, was
I?... In the interval, let me not neglect to mention, there had been
other flirtations and minor affairs. Thank Heaven, those things pass,"
the words came out devoutly.