Husband of mine, I think we have rather overrated the emotional capacity of those—those dears. John turned toward the short staircase as she alit upon the first creaky step. Buck up. Friday was not a big dinner night at the Beck house. They had got all this down already—they heard the substance of it now for the fourteenth time. As she sat the bride actually woke up, sat up, and looked frightfully around the room. It was time to get up. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls.
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