I wandered into the club. The news had preceded me there. More than one member in the reading-room grasped my hand, with just a word of sympathy. Two young fellows, whom I had last seen at the Henderson dinner, were seated at a small table.
“It's rough, Jack”--the speaker paused, with a match in his hand--“it's rough. I'll be if she was not the finest woman I ever knew.”
My wife and I were sitting in the orchestra stalls of the Metropolitan. The opera was Siegfried. At the close of the first act, as we turned to the house, we saw Carmen enter a box, radiant, in white. Henderson followed, and took a seat a little in shadow behind her. There were others in the box. There was a little movement and flutter as they came in and glasses were turned that way.
“Married, and it is only two years,” I said.
“It is only a year and eight months,” my wife replied.
And the world goes on as cheerfully and prosperously as ever.
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Little Journey in the World by Charles Dudley Warner