"My husband: that's all!" answered Christine. "And now, if you please,
will you go to yours? You'll find him at mass. He'll have plenty of
praying to do if he prays for you both--voila!"
"Your husband!" said Sophie, in a husky voice, dumfounded and miserable.
"Is that so?" she added to Ferrol. "Is she-your wife?"
"That's the case," he answered, "and, of course," he added in a
mollifying tone, "being my sister as well as Christine's, there's no
reason why you shouldn't be alone with me in the room a few moments.
Is there now?" he added to Christine.
The acting was clever enough, but not quite convincing, and Christine was
too excited to respond to his blarney.
"He can't be your real husband," said Sophie, hardly above a whisper.
"The Cure didn't marry you, did he?" She looked at Ferrol doubtfully.
"Well, no," he said; "we were married over in Upper Canada."
"By a Protestant?" asked Sophie.
Christine interrrupted. "What's that to you? I hope I'll never see your
face again while I live. I want to be alone with my husband, and your
husband wants to be alone with his wife: won't you oblige us and him--
Hein?"
Sophie gave Ferrol a look which haunted him while he lived.
Pages:
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84