Not only her future and his were at stake, but there were the children for whom she prayed.

They must be considered.
And so, holding back her emotion, she followed him across the pompous summer house in which, with a shudder, she recognized a horrible resemblance to a mausoleum, and laid her little hand upon his arm.
"Gilbert," she said, "tell me the truth.

Be frank with me.

Let me help you, dear." Poor little wife.

For the third time she had said the wrong thing.
"Help"-- the word angered him.