“No, Rollo,” she said, “I don’t mean--I mean, what do they talk about?”
“Oh!” I replied, “what do they _really_ talk about, eh?”
“Yes. I want to put it in the play.”
“You want to put it in the play? Let me see.” I considered a moment.
“Well, after the first grief at the loss of the ladies, their hands go
instinctively to their hair, to feel how they have looked. If there is a
mirror handy they flock to it. They then sit down, look wistfully at the
empty chairs, and fold their hands patiently, to await the earliest
moment that they may rejoin their bereft partners.”
“Don’t be absurd, Rol,” answered Carrie. “I want to know. I’ve got a man
here, who is to talk after dinner. He’s in love with a girl he’s been
sitting next, and I want him to say pretty things about her.”
Happy, happy innocence! dear simple Carrie! Should I be the one to
destroy so sweet an illusion? Never!