Now you had better get dinner.
It's past twelve." Sylvia gave a quick, frightened glance at him.
Then she went silently out of the room.
"Mrs.Whitman does not seem well," Horace said, softly.
"I think her nerves are all out of order with what she has gone through with lately," said Henry.

"It has been a great change that has come to us both, Mr.Allen.When a man and woman have lived past their youth, and made up their minds to bread and butter, and nothing else, and be thankful if you get that much, it seems more like a slap than a gift of Providence to have mince-pie thrust into their mouths.
It has been too much for Sylvia, and now, of course, this awful thing that has happened has upset her, and--" He stopped, for Sylvia opened the door suddenly.

"If she wa'n't dead and gone, I wouldn't believe one word of such a tomfool story," said she, with vicious energy.

Then she shut the door again.
At dinner Sylvia ate nothing, and did not talk.

Neither Henry nor Horace said much.