She was sure of Lewis. He was her husband and she
knew herself to be the apple of his eye; but she knew exactly what he
was going to say before he said it, and much of what he said grated on
her. She was almost equally sure of Littleton; that is of his
admiration. His companionship was a constant pleasure to her. As a
married woman, and as a Christian and American woman, she desired no
more than this. But on the other hand, she would fain have this admiring
companionship continue; and yet it could not. Littleton had told her the
day before that he was going back to New York and that it was doubtful
if he would return. She would miss him. She would have the Institute and
Mrs. Earle still, but her life would be less full.
Littleton was waiting for her at the church entrance. She followed him
down the nave to the chancel where she listened dreamily to his
presentation of the merits of the new decoration. He seemed inclined to
talk, and from this presently branched off to describe with enthusiasm
the plates of a French book on interior architecture, which he had
recently bought as a long-resisted but triumphant piece of extravagance.
Mechanically, they turned from the chancel and slowly made the round of
the aisles.
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