Ah, how far, how unattainably far from him, she was still! 'She will never forget Montbarry,' he thought to himself as he took up his hat to go.

'Not one of us feels his death as she feels it.
Miserable, miserable wretch--how she loved him!' In the street, as Henry closed the house-door, he was stopped by a passing acquaintance--a wearisome inquisitive man--doubly unwelcome to him, at that moment.

'Sad news, Westwick, this about your brother.
Rather an unexpected death, wasn't it?
We never heard at the club that Montbarry's lungs were weak.

What will the insurance offices do ?' Henry started; he had never thought of his brother's life insurance.
What could the offices do but pay?
A death by bronchitis, certified by two physicians, was surely the least disputable of all deaths.

'I wish you hadn't put that question into my head!' he broke out irritably.
'Ah!' said his friend, 'you think the widow will get the money?
So do I! so do I!'.