I'm burning to get to work. But luncheon and dinners you will sit at my table. Now, she was the very reverse of all this. She would meet him upon this ground: he should never be given the slightest hint that she was unhappy. "Impossible!" exclaimed the widow, wildly. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray.
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