Mrs. Agar was one of those unfortunate women
who level all ranks in their sore need of a listener. The expression of
her face was decidedly lachrymose.
"Poor Arthur!" she exclaimed. "Dora, dear, something so dreadful has
happened!"
"Yes," returned Dora, with the indifference of one who has tasted of the
worst.
"Poor Arthur has received Jem's papers and diaries and things, and I can
see from his letter that it has quite upset him. He is so sympathetic,
you know."
Dora had turned quite away. She usually carried a stick in her country
rambles, and it seemed suddenly to have suggested itself to her to lay
this on a table near the door. The stick fell off again, and some moments
elapsed while she picked it up from the floor. When she turned, her veil
had slipped from the brim of her hat down over her face.
"But it could not have been a surprise to him," she said quietly. "He
must have known that there would probably be something of the sort sent
home."
"Yes, yes. But you know, dear, how keenly he feels everything.
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