“ Well, what’s the date of the wedding?” said Henry, the malicious mood now predominating.
“ I think some time in March,” she replied.
“ And afterwards?” he asked.
“ We take a house, I suppose, somewhere in Chelsea.”
“ It’s very interesting,” he observed, stealing another look at her.
She lay back in her arm-chair, her feet high upon the side of the grate, and in front of her, presumably to screen her eyes, she held a newspaper from which she picked up a sentence or two now and again. Observing this, Henry remarked:
“ Perhaps marriage will make you more human.”
At this she lowered the newspaper an inch or two, but said nothing. Indeed, she sat quite silent for over a minute.
“ When you consider things like the stars, our affairs don’t seem to matter very much, do they?” she
