"What have I done, my dear
Mrs. Hopkinson?" he began.
"Oh, don't talk," she said sadly. "What have you done, indeed! Why, you
sent me that beautiful bouquet. I could not mistake your taste in the
arrangement of the flowers;--but my husband was here. You know his
jealousy. I was obliged to conceal it from him. Never--promise me
now--NEVER do it again."
Mr. Gashwiler gallantly protested.
"No! I am serious! I was so agitated: he must have seen me blush."
Nothing but the gross flattery to this speech could have clouded its
manifest absurdity to the Gashwiler consciousness. But Mr. Gashwiler
had already succumbed to the girlish half-timidity with which it was
uttered. Nevertheless, he could not help saying:
"But why should he be so jealous now? Only day before yesterday I saw
Simpson of Duluth hand you a nosegay right before him!"
"Ah," returned the lady, "he was outwardly calm THEN, but you know
nothing of the scene that occurred between us after you left."
"But," gasped the practical Gashwiler, "Simpson had given your husband
that contract,--a cool fifty thousand in his pocket!"
Mrs.
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