‘Thank you,’ she said, leaning heavily on his arm for a moment. Two women entered and sat down at the adjoining table. He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also in order “to distract his mind. That's well. “It really seems as if we shall have to put down marigolds altogether next year,” Aunt Molly repeated three times, “and do away with marguerites. It’s—Mrs. ‘Rather thought I’d have to disarm you when you heard of it. ” “We’ve come past it, miss,” the man answered, with a note of finality in his gruff voice. "I could almost forgive the wretch the injury he did me in depriving me of my poor dear wife—No, not quite that," he added, a little confused.
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