I want to talk to
you about Bee."
"About Bee?" echoed the other, seating herself beside the bed. "What
about her?"
"I should have said that I want to ask you about Mr. Wynne. Do you know
anything about his relations to her?"
"The only relation that he has is that of a perfectly desperate adorer.
He worships the ground she walks on, but he doesn't cherish anything
that could be decently called hope."
"Then he does care for her?"
"My dear Anna, it almost makes me weep for my lost youth to see him. He
has so wrought upon my glands of sentiment that this morning I actually
examined my husband's wardrobe to see if the maid darns his stockings
properly. Fred would be perfectly amazed if he knew how sentimental I
feel. I even thought of sitting up last night to welcome him home from
the club, but about half past one I came to the end of my novel and
felt sleepy, so I gave that up."
Mrs. Frostwinch smiled with the air of one who understands that the
visitor is endeavoring to furnish a diversion from the dull sadness of
the sick chamber.
"But Bee said he was angry with her."
"The anger of lovers, my dear, is legitimate fuel for the flame.
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