The Story of a New York HouseBunner, H. C. (Henry Cuyler)
General
The Story of a New York House
Bunner, H. C. (Henry Cuyler)
Dwellings -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction
The expected event was of special and personal interest to only three
people--for, after all, when you think of it, it was not exactly
society's business--and it affected them in widely different ways.
Jacob Dolph was all tenderness to his wife, and all sympathy with her
fears, with her nervous apprehensions, even with her morbid forebodings
of impossible ills. He did not repine at the seclusion which the
situation forced upon them, although his life for years had been given
up to society's demands, until pleasure-seeking and pleasure-giving had
grown into a routine, which occupied his whole mind. His wife saw him
more than she had for many years. Clubs and card-parties had few
temptations for him now; he sat at home and read to her and talked to
her, and did his best to follow the injunctions of the doctor, and
"create and preserve in her a spirit of cheerful and hopeful
tranquillity, free of unnecessary apprehension."
But when he _did_ go to the club, when he was in male society, his
breast expanded, and if he had to answer a polite inquiry as to Mrs.
Dolph's general health, I am afraid that he responded: "Mrs. Dolph is
extremely well, sir, extremely well!" with a pride which the moralists
will tell you is baseless, unworthy, and unreasonable.
As for Aline herself, no one may know what timorous hopes stirred in her
bosom and charmed the years away, and brought back to her a lovely youth
that was almost girlish in its innocent, half-frightened gladness.
Outside, this great, wise, eminently proper world that she lived in
girded at the old woman who was to bear a child, and laughed behind
tasselled fans, and made wondrous merry over Nature's work; but within
the old house she sat, and sewed upon the baby-clothes, or, wandering
from cupboard to cupboard, found the yellowing garments, laid away more
than a score of years before--the poor little lace-decked trifles that
her first boy had worn; and she thanked heaven, in her humble way, that
twenty-four years had not taken the love and joy of a wife and a mother
out of her heart.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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