“To New York?”

“Yes.  Why not?”

“There’s no reason why you shouldn’t if you wish to,” she replied, picking up her frame.

“Anything I can get you?” he asked.

“No, thank you.”

“You’ve been in such a deuced queer mood the last few days I can’t make you out, Honora.”

“You ought to have learned something about women by this time,” she said.

“It seems to me,” he announced, “that we need a little livening up.”

CHAPTER XVII

THE RENEWAL OF AN ANCIENT HOSPITALITY

There were six letters from him, written from a club, representing the seven days of his absence.  He made no secret of the fact that his visit to the metropolis was in the nature of a relaxation and a change of scene, but the letters themselves contained surprisingly little information as to how he was employing his holiday.  He had encountered many old friends, supposedly all of the male sex:  among them—­most welcome of surprises to him!—­Mr. George Pembroke, a boon companion at Harvard.  And this mention of boon companionship brought up to Honora a sufficiently vivid idea of Mr. Pembroke’s characteristics.  The extent of her knowledge of this gentleman consisted in the facts that he was a bachelor, a member of a prominent Philadelphia family, and that time hung heavy on his hands.

One morning she received a telegram to the effect that her husband would be home that night, bringing three people with him.  He sent his love, but neglected to state the names and sexes of the prospective guests.  And she was still in a quandary as to what arrangements to make when Starling appeared in answer to her ring.

“You will send the omnibus to the five o’clock train,” she said.  “There will be three extra places at dinner, and tea when Mr. Chiltern arrives.”

Although she strove to speak indifferently, she was sure from the way the old man looked at her that her voice had not been quite steady.  Of late her curious feeling about him had increased in intensity; and many times, during this week she had spent alone, she had thought that his eyes had followed her with sympathy.  She did not resent this.  Her world having now contracted to that wide house, there was a comfort in knowing that there was one in it to whom she could turn in need.  For she felt that she could turn to Starling; he alone, apparently, had measured the full depth of her trouble; nay, had silently predicted it from the beginning.  And to-day, as he stood before her, she had an almost irresistible impulse to speak.  Just a word-a human word would have been such a help to her!  And how ridiculous the social law that kept the old man standing there, impassive, respectful, when this existed between them!  Her tragedy was his tragedy; not in the same proportion, perhaps; nevertheless, he had the air of one who would die of it.