Love stories, American; United States -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction
Maurice, with instant discretion, dropped the subject. But he was sorry
for her; she made him think of a beaten kitten. "You must take care of
that wrist," he said, his blue eyes full of sympathy. When he went away
he told himself he had spotted the big man as a brute the minute he saw
him. The "kitten" seemed to him so pathetic that he forgot Eleanor's
exquisiteness, and told her about the bruised wrist and the reeking
coat, and how pretty the girl was.
"I don't know anything vulgarer than perfumery!" his wife said, with a
delicate shrug.
Maurice agreed, adding, with a grin, that he had noticed that when
ladies were short on the odor of sanctity, they were long on the odor of
musk.
"I always keep dried rose leaves in my bureau drawers," Eleanor said;
and he had the presence of mind to say, "You are a rose yourself!"
A husband's "presence of mind" in addressing his wife is, of course, a
confession; it means they are not one--for nobody makes pretty speeches
to oneself! However, Maurice's "rose" made no such deduction.
CHAPTER IX
It was after Mr. Houghton had swallowed the scorched soup and meditated
infanticide, that boarding became inevitable. Several times that winter
Maurice said that Hannah "was the limit; so let's board?"
And toward spring, in spite of the cavorting lambs and waddling ducks in
the little waiting, empty room upstairs, Eleanor yielded. "We can go to
housekeeping again," she thought, "_if_--"
So the third year of their marriage opened in a boarding house. They
moved (Bingo again banished to Mrs. O'Brien), on their wedding
anniversary, and instead of celebrating by going out to "their river,"
they spent a hot, grimy day settling down in their third-floor front.
"If people come to see us," said Maurice, ruefully, standing with his
hands in his pockets surveying their new quarters, "they'll have to sit
on the piano!"
"Nobody'll come," Eleanor said.
Maurice's eyes narrowed: "I believe you need 'em, Nelly? I knock up
against people at the office, and I know several fellows and girls
outside--"
"What girls?"
"Oh, the fellows' sisters; but you--"
"I don't want anybody but you!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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