I remember once, when
I had gone to see my poor mother, he sent me three telegrams in
thirty-five minutes telling me to come home."
"Thomas was so unselfish," murmured Mrs. Chalk. "I once stayed with my
mother for six weeks and he never said a word."
An odd expression, transient but unmistakable, flitted across the face of
the listener.
"It nearly broke his heart, though, poor dear," said Mrs. Chalk, glaring
at her. "He said he had never had such a time in his life."
"I don't expect he had," said Mrs. Stobell, screwing up her small
features.
Mrs. Chalk drew herself up in her chair. "What do you mean by that?"
she demanded.
"I meant what he meant," replied Mrs. Stobell, with a little air of
surprise.
Mrs. Chalk bit her lip, and her friend, turning her head, gazed long and
mournfully at a large photograph of Mr. Stobell painted in oils, which
stared stiffly down on them from the wall.
"He never caused me a moment's uneasiness," she said, tenderly. "I could
trust him anywhere."
[Illustration: "Her friend gazed long and mournfully at a large
photograph of Mr. Stobell."]
Mrs. Chalk gazed thoughtfully at the portrait. It was not a good
likeness, but it was more like Mr.
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