"To America," the old man explained. He laid his hands to his temples.
"Do you sleep well?"
"Always."
"Rosy thinks the new house ought to be hurried more. But why should she
object to being married from the old house she was born in? Most girls
would be pleased with such a thought as that." He placed his hand over
his weary old eyes. "You do, do you--always? I don't; I can't. These
trains--they keep me awake. I slept hardly half an hour last night, and
none at all the night before. Do you know anything about chloral?"
The voice of Bingham came to a pause, and that of Jane was presently
distinguished in response--trembling, apprehensive, lapsing away into
little breaks and pauses.
"I know it's dangerous," replied Brower. "And morphine, too. And all such
things; they're not to be used except in the last extremity. So they are
going to England for their wedding-trip, then?"
"To England, yes." He smiled half sorrowfully, half bitterly. He was
thinking how easy it might be for Rosamund to give up her old home and
her old friends altogether; and he was asking himself, too, if he had
really toiled through these many years only to have the results
squandered at last by a stranger in a strange land.
"To England, yes," he repeated. "Arthur has postponed his vacation until
late in the fall, and he hopes to be able to spend as much as two or
three weeks at home. At home; he is a British subject, you know--he has
never been naturalized.
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