And now—Dear! Dear! The dayspring from on high hath visited me. She crawled underneath the soft white sheets, reclining and pulling the blankets up to her chin. “So is Mr. " Mrs. ‘It is you who is the fool,’ she threw at him, whipping round again. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. Having no more patience, I drew you aside to give you a compliment on your radiant beauty. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. Almost instantly she had recognized the fallacy of such a statement. E. I received a telegram, as you know, during dinner.
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