Smith used to declare
"I am no reader" with something like pride in his low tones. Very often
after kissing her good-night on the forehead he would treat her to some
such fretful remark: "It's like being in jail--'pon my word. I suppose
that man is out there waiting for you. Head jailer! Ough!"
She would smile vaguely; murmur a conciliatory "How absurd." But once,
out of patience, she said quite sharply "Leave off. It hurts me. One
would think you hate me."
"It isn't you I hate," he went on monotonously breathing at her. "No, it
isn't you. But if I saw that you loved that man I think I could hate you
too."
That word struck straight at her heart. "You wouldn't be the first
then," she muttered bitterly. But he was busy with his fixed idea and
uttered an awfully equable "But you don't! Unfortunate girl!"
She looked at him steadily for a time then said "Good-night, papa."
As a matter of fact Anthony very seldom waited for her alone at the table
with the scattered cards, glasses, water-jug, bottles and soon. He took
no more opportunities to be alone with her than was absolutely necessary
for the edification of Mrs.
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