She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. ‘How she pouted, and tried to make out that she had been imposed upon. “I do not think that he is quite dead. The thought had not even occurred to him. Stories … love stories: and to-morrow she would know the joy of reading them! It was almost unbelievable; it was too good to be true. What was yet more worthy of note was, that the widow's countenance had an air of refinement about it, of which it was utterly destitute before, and which seemed to intimate that her true position in society was far above that wherein accident had placed her.
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