These cogitations were interrupted by the entrance of the doctor. He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment. ‘You are dead, you,’ he yelled back, leaping into the seat of the final pew. Such apartments as she saw were either scandalously dirty or unaccountably dear, or both. Sir John saw it, and was flattered. What had shifted his casual interest was the visible prospect of a party of three who were coming down the packet gangplank.
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