They are sitting rather close together, and speaking in a low key, but I am so used to _his_ voice, and her articulation is so distinct, that I do not miss a word.
"I think I had the pleasure of seeing you in church, last Sunday," Algy says, rather diffidently; not having yet quite recovered from the humiliation engendered by his unfortunate remark.
She nods.
"And I you," with a gently reassuring smile.
"Did you, really?
did you see me--I mean us ?" "Yes, I saw you," with a delicate inflection of voice, which somehow confines the application of the remark to him.

"I made up my mind--one takes ideas into one's head, you know--I made up my mind that you were a _soldier_; one can mostly tell." He laughs the flattered, fluttered laugh, that _my_ rough speech was never known to provoke in living man.
"Yes, I am; at least, I am going to be; I join this week." "Yes ?" with a pretty air of attention and interest.
"We--we--found out who _you_ were," he says, laughing again, with a little embarrassment, and edging his chair nearer hers; "we asked Musgrave!" "Mr.Musgrave!" (with a little tone of alert curiosity)--"oh! you know _him_ ?" "I know him! I should think so: he is quite a tame cat here." "Yes ?" "Have you any _children_ ?" cry I, suddenly, bundling with my usual fine tact head-foremost into the conversation (where I am clearly not wanted, and altogether forgetting Barbara's warning injunction) with my unnecessary and malapropos query.

For a moment she looks only astonished; then an expression of pain crosses her face, and a slight contraction passes over her features.

Evidently, she _had_ a child, and it is _dead_.

She is going to _cry_! At this awful thought, I grow scarlet, and Algy darts a furious look at me.