up.
‘Well?’
‘Aren’t you going to tell me how you think it looks?’
‘Yes, of course. I think it looks fine, old girl,’ glancing round the room. ‘Of course, it’s all a bit strange at first, but you’ve got it quite home-like already. I like the old ship over the mantelpiece; it shows her up.’ (The old ship was a reproduction of a painting of a vessel with very white sails on a very blue sea, which had been painted to please the thousands of people who think that a sailing-ship on a blue sea is one of the most beautiful sights to be seen in this world – as, Heaven knows, it is.)
‘Well, there’s a lot to be done still,’ sighed Mrs Steggles, carefully lifting some book-ends in the shape of Highland terriers from the box and putting them down beside a statuette of a girl tennis-player, ‘and it’s been the worst move we’ve had yet for losses and breakages. There’s the glass clean gone out of our wedding group, and that green vase with the red spots on smashed to atoms, and I can’t find Aunt Chrissie’s teaspoons anywhere and the green and yellow tea-cosy is missing too.’
‘Perhaps some of them will turn up to-morrow. Do you think you’re going to like it here, old girl; that’s the main thing?’
‘I can’t possibly tell yet, Jack. We haven’t been here twenty-four hours. The house seems all right. I wish we hadn’t got that great hill at the back, it makes me feel overlooked, but I expect I shall get used to that. It seems a nice quiet road.’
He nodded. He had sat down in an arm-chair and was watching his wife as she slowly and carefully unwrapped each treasure, and thinking that now they were alone she was natural again; no longer talking him down and interrupting him and making the spiteful little jokes at his expense that had caused Mrs Wilson, at last, to look embarrassed, and an uneasy silence to fall. Now the devil of jealousy had gone, and his wife was Mabel again; complaining, not very happy, but giving the brighter side its due and enjoying in her own way the anxieties and adventures of the move. At this moment, she hasn’t a thought in her head except what’s happened to the tea-cosy, he thought, and made the best of that brief peaceful moment.
At least he can’t go out anywhere this evening, Mrs Steggles was thinking as she worked. Thank God, that Bettie creature and that other wicked devil are left behind in Lukeborough.
‘Well,’ she said at last, leaning back with a sigh and rubbing her hands on her overall, ‘I shan’t do any more to-night. I’m tired. I shall go up. What about you?’
‘Oh – I’ve got some letters to write,’ he said, taking the evening paper from his pocket and unfolding it without looking at her, ‘and I want to finish this; I didn’t get a seat in the train. I shan’t be long.’
She went slowly out of the room without answering, and in a moment he was reading through the news-stories he had sub-edited that day, and had forgotten her. It did not seem strange to him that she had not asked him more about his first day’s work on a London daily, because he was used to the mixture of genuine indifference and conventional respect for ‘your dad’s job’ which she felt towards his work; and besides, he did not want any woman, let alone his wife, bothering him about his work. That was not what he wanted from women.
‘ Whatever was the matter with you all? Sitting in a row exactly like Madame Tussaud’s,’ burst out Hilda the instant Margaret was out of ear-shot. ‘Had he been getting fresh with you or something?’
‘That’s not a nice way to talk, Hilda,’ said Mrs Wilson firmly, but spoiling the reproof with a giggle. ‘Of course not, but she’s so dreadfully jealous, poor thing, she can’t bear him even to be polite.’
‘ Poor thing! I like that.’
‘Oh, but she is, Hilda. Jealousy’s a real disease, you know; it’s wrecked many a marriage. You and Dad and I are so happy; we never think of homes where
‘Well?’
‘Aren’t you going to tell me how you think it looks?’
‘Yes, of course. I think it looks fine, old girl,’ glancing round the room. ‘Of course, it’s all a bit strange at first, but you’ve got it quite home-like already. I like the old ship over the mantelpiece; it shows her up.’ (The old ship was a reproduction of a painting of a vessel with very white sails on a very blue sea, which had been painted to please the thousands of people who think that a sailing-ship on a blue sea is one of the most beautiful sights to be seen in this world – as, Heaven knows, it is.)
‘Well, there’s a lot to be done still,’ sighed Mrs Steggles, carefully lifting some book-ends in the shape of Highland terriers from the box and putting them down beside a statuette of a girl tennis-player, ‘and it’s been the worst move we’ve had yet for losses and breakages. There’s the glass clean gone out of our wedding group, and that green vase with the red spots on smashed to atoms, and I can’t find Aunt Chrissie’s teaspoons anywhere and the green and yellow tea-cosy is missing too.’
‘Perhaps some of them will turn up to-morrow. Do you think you’re going to like it here, old girl; that’s the main thing?’
‘I can’t possibly tell yet, Jack. We haven’t been here twenty-four hours. The house seems all right. I wish we hadn’t got that great hill at the back, it makes me feel overlooked, but I expect I shall get used to that. It seems a nice quiet road.’
He nodded. He had sat down in an arm-chair and was watching his wife as she slowly and carefully unwrapped each treasure, and thinking that now they were alone she was natural again; no longer talking him down and interrupting him and making the spiteful little jokes at his expense that had caused Mrs Wilson, at last, to look embarrassed, and an uneasy silence to fall. Now the devil of jealousy had gone, and his wife was Mabel again; complaining, not very happy, but giving the brighter side its due and enjoying in her own way the anxieties and adventures of the move. At this moment, she hasn’t a thought in her head except what’s happened to the tea-cosy, he thought, and made the best of that brief peaceful moment.
At least he can’t go out anywhere this evening, Mrs Steggles was thinking as she worked. Thank God, that Bettie creature and that other wicked devil are left behind in Lukeborough.
‘Well,’ she said at last, leaning back with a sigh and rubbing her hands on her overall, ‘I shan’t do any more to-night. I’m tired. I shall go up. What about you?’
‘Oh – I’ve got some letters to write,’ he said, taking the evening paper from his pocket and unfolding it without looking at her, ‘and I want to finish this; I didn’t get a seat in the train. I shan’t be long.’
She went slowly out of the room without answering, and in a moment he was reading through the news-stories he had sub-edited that day, and had forgotten her. It did not seem strange to him that she had not asked him more about his first day’s work on a London daily, because he was used to the mixture of genuine indifference and conventional respect for ‘your dad’s job’ which she felt towards his work; and besides, he did not want any woman, let alone his wife, bothering him about his work. That was not what he wanted from women.
‘ Whatever was the matter with you all? Sitting in a row exactly like Madame Tussaud’s,’ burst out Hilda the instant Margaret was out of ear-shot. ‘Had he been getting fresh with you or something?’
‘That’s not a nice way to talk, Hilda,’ said Mrs Wilson firmly, but spoiling the reproof with a giggle. ‘Of course not, but she’s so dreadfully jealous, poor thing, she can’t bear him even to be polite.’
‘ Poor thing! I like that.’
‘Oh, but she is, Hilda. Jealousy’s a real disease, you know; it’s wrecked many a marriage. You and Dad and I are so happy; we never think of homes where
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