John Ferringham, Gentleman

"Confess, my dear husband," Annabel said lightly, "that you are
bewildered."

Sir John smiled.

"My dear Anna," he answered. "To tell you the truth, it has seemed
just lately as though we were becoming in some measure estranged. You
certainly have not shown much desire for my society, have you?"

"You have been wrapped up in your politics," she murmured.

He shook his head.

"There have been other times," he said a little sadly.

Her little white hand stole across the table. There was a look in her
eyes which puzzled him.

"I have been very selfish," she declared. "But you must forgive me,
John."

"I would forgive you a great deal more," he answered readily, "for the
sake of an evening like this. You have actually given up a
dinner-party to dine alone with me."

"And made you give up a political meeting," she reminded him.

"Quite an unimportant one," he assured her. "I would have given up
anything to see you your old self again--as you are this evening."

"I am afraid I have not been very nice," she said sadly. "Never mind.
You must think of this evening, John, sometimes--as a sort of
atonement."

"I hope," he answered, looking at her in some surprise, "that we shall
have many more such to think about."

They were lingering over their dessert. The servants had left the
room. Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little
folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it.