He wore his flowered cashmere dressing-gown, tied about the waist with a
heavy silk cord and tassel, and a soft red silk handkerchief was spread
over his white hair to protect his head from possible draughts in the
long hall. Just now one finger was between the pages of "A Sentimental
Journey."

"She was here," said Mrs. Dale, still smiling. "I was telling her the
Forsythes were coming. It is an excellent thing; nothing could be
better."

"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Dale.

"Mean?" cried his wife. "What should I be apt to mean? You have no sense
about such things, Henry."

"Oh," said her husband meekly, "you want them to fall in love?"

"Well, really," she answered, leaning back in her chair, and tapping her
foot impatiently, "I do not see how my husband can be so silly. One would
think I was a matchmaker, and no one detests anything of that sort as I
do,--no one! Fall in love, indeed! I think the expression is positively
indelicate, Henry. Of course, if Lois should be well married, I should be
grateful; and if it should be Mr. Forsythe, I should only feel I had done
my duty in urging Arabella to take a house in Ashurst."

"Oh, you urged her?"

"I wrote her Ashurst was very pleasant," Mrs. Dale acknowledged, "and it
was considered healthy. (I understand Arabella!) I knew her son was going
abroad later in the summer, but I thought, if he once got here"--