" He turned to the guest--"While
there is nothing really wrong, you know, Lagrange, still it's best to be
on the safe side."
"By all means," said the novelist, heartily. "You should take care of
yourself. Don't, I beg, permit me to detain you."
Mrs. Taine, with careful tenderness, accompanied her husband to the door.
When he had passed from the room, she faced the novelist, with--"Don't you
think Edward is really very much worse, Mr. Lagrange? I keep up
appearances, you know, but--" she paused with a charming air of perplexed
and worried anxiety.
"Your husband is certainly not a well man, madam--but you keep up
appearances wonderfully. I really don't see how you manage it. But I
suppose that for one of your nature it is natural."
Again, she received his words with that look of doubtful
understanding--as though sensing some meaning beneath the polite,
commonplace surface. Then, as if to lead away from the subject--"You must
really tell me what you think of our California home. I told you in New
York, you remember, that I should ask you, the first thing. We were so
sorry to have missed you last year. Please be frank. Isn't it beautiful?"
"Very beautiful"--he answered--"exquisite taste--perfect harmony with
modern art.
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