Mrs. Headway fixed her eyes for a moment on the door. "Do you suppose that man is there still?"
"That young man—your poor Englishman?"
"No; I mean Max. Max is my courier," said Mrs. Headway, with a certain impressiveness.
"I have n't the least idea. I 'll see, if you like."
"No; in that case I should have to give him an order, and I don't know what in the world to ask him to do. He sits there for hours; with my simple habits I afford him no employment. I am afraid I have no imagination."
"The burden of grandeur," said Littlemore.
"Oh yes, I 'm very grand. But on the whole I like it. I 'm only afraid he 'll hear. I talk so very loud; that 's another thing I 'm trying to get over."
"Why do you want to be different?"
"Well, because everything else is different," Mrs. Headway rejoined, with a little sigh. "Did you hear that I 'd lost my husband?" she went on, abruptly.
"Do you mean—a—Mr.———?" and Littlemore paused, with an effect that did not seem to come home to her.
"I mean Mr. Headway," she said, with dignity. "I've been through a good deal since you saw me last: marriage, and death, and trouble, and all sorts of things."
"You had been through a good deal of marriage before that," Littlemore ventured to observe.
She rested her eyes on him with soft brightness,
