Page:Confessions of a wife (IA confessionsofwif00adamiala).pdf/33

So I said good night, but Mr. Herwin did not answer me. He lifted his hat, and stood bare-headed, and Job and I came, dripping, into the empty hall.

Now we are quite dry and happy. Job is done up in his gray blanket that matches his blue-skye complexion, bundled before the fire. He has had another dose of whisky; I suspect he has got a little too much. I have had a hot bath, and got out of everything and into something, and now my ruby gown—especially the velvet part of it—seems to me to understand me better than anything in the world. The rain has quite stopped, but the wind sings down the chimney. It has that tune in its head, too, and seems to be humming it:

But it never gets quite through, comes to a pause, falls short of heaven, and spoils the sense.

Father is still asleep in the library. Maggie has come and gone for the night. The house is preposterously still. Mr. Herwin did not come in again. I did n't know but he would.

"My dear Mr. Herwin: I hope I was not uncivil to you the other evening. I was really