"He certainly doesn't deserve one. Don't let us
keep you from offering Miss Triscoe any consolation you can." They got
up, and the boy gathered up the gloves, umbrella, and handkerchief which
the ladies let drop from their laps.
"Have you been telling?" March asked his wife.
"Have I told you anything?" she demanded of Mrs. Adding in turn.
"Anything that you didn't as good as know, already?"
"Not a syllable!" Mrs. Adding replied in high delight. "Come, Rose!"
"Well, I suppose there's no use saying anything," said March, after she
left them.
"She had guessed everything, without my telling her," said his wife.
"About Stoller?"
"Well-no. I did tell her that part, but that was nothing. It was about
Burnamy and Agatha that she knew. She saw it from the first."
"I should have thought she would have enough to do to look after poor old
Kenby."
"I'm not sure, after all, that she cares for him. If she doesn't, she
oughtn't to let him write to her. Aren't you going over to speak to the
Triscoes?"
"No, certainly not. I'm going back to the hotel. There ought to be some
steamer letters this morning. Here we are, worrying about these strangers
all the time, and we never give a thought to our own children on the
other side of the ocean.
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