him happy. She looked very splendid; Headway had probably made a "pile," an achievement not to be imputed to any of the others. She did n't accept money—he was sure she did n't accept money.
On their way back to their seats Littlemore, whose tone had been humorous, but with that strain of the pensive which is inseparable from retrospect, suddenly broke into audible laughter.
"The modelling of a statue and the works of Voltaire!" he exclaimed, recurring to two or three things she had said. "It 's comical to hear her attempt those flights, for in New Mexico she knew nothing about modelling."
"She did n't strike me as affected," Waterville rejoined, feeling a vague impulse to take a considerate view of her.
"Oh, no; she 's only—as she says—fearfully changed."
They were in their places before the play went on again, and they both gave another glance at Mrs. Headway's box. She leaned back, slowly fanning herself, and evidently watching Littlemore, as if she had been waiting to see him come in. Sir Arthur Demesne sat beside her, rather gloomily, resting a round pink chin upon a high stiff collar; neither of them seemed to speak.
"Are you sure she makes him happy?" Waterville asked.
"Yes—that 's the way those people show it."
"But does she go about alone with him that way? Where 's her husband?"
