"
My wife was too much absorbed in her own mysterious mental processes to
take note of or analyze this observation. For a few moments she was
lost in a brown study, and gazed about her with a glance that struck me
as somewhat critical.
"You are an angel, Fred," she repeated, ruminantly. "You took me in
splendidly, didn't you? And to think of your doing it all by yourself!"
She wandered back into the dining-room, and thence to the hall, where
she stood peering up the stairway at the skylight. "Yes," she
continued presently, in a judicial, contemplative tone, "I think it
will do very well on the whole. I am not perfectly sure that the
laundress will be satisfied with the arrangement of the laundry, and I
don't see exactly, Fred, what you are to do for a dressing-room, when
we have more than one visitor. I am out of conceit with the tinting of
the drawing-room ceiling, and--and several of the mantelpieces are
hideous. But, on the other hand, the dining-room is perfectly lovely,
there is no end of closet-room, and the kitchen is a gem. Oh, thank
you, Fred, thank you ever so much. I really never expected that we
could afford to leave the dear old house. It will almost break my
heart to leave it, too, although it is so dirty."
Josephine's guns were spiked, as it were.
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