§ 5
Mr. Preemby looked unusually small but unusually dignified in his full mourning. Christina Alberta was also extremely black and shiny. Her skirts reached for the first time in her life to her ankles; a sacrifice that she felt would be particularly acceptable to the spirit of the departed.
A new thing had come into Christina Alberta’s life—responsibility. She perceived that for unfathomable reasons she was responsible for Mr. Preemby.
It was clear that the sudden death of his wife under the surgeon’s knife had been a very great blow to him. He did not break down or weep or give way to paroxysms of grief, but he was enormously still and sad. His round china-blue eyes and his moustache looked at the world with a mournful solemnity. The undertaker had rarely met so satisfactory a widower. “Everything of the best,” said Mr. Preemby. “Whatever she can have, she must have.” Under the circumstances, the undertaker, who was a friend of the family, having met both Mr. and Mrs. Preemby at whist-drives quite frequently, showed commendable moderation.
“You can’t imagine what all this means to me,” said Mr. Preemby to Christina Alberta, quite a number of times. “It was a pure love match,” he said; “pure romance. She had nothing to gain by marrying me. But neither of us thought of sordid things.” He was silent for a little while, struggling with intractable memories. He subdued them. “We just met,” he said, smiling faintly; “and it seemed that it had to be.”
“Sneaked off and left me”; came a faint whisper in Christina Alberta’s memory.