I say to myself that people rarely die of rheumatism,
which is Josephine's only cross, and though pneumonia is a fell
destroyer, I know that Josephine is firmly convinced that the colds to
which I am subject never attack my lungs. Some day one of us will wake
up and miss the other, unless my darling's prayer that we be taken away
together be granted; but until we do, are we not happier for cherishing
the delusion that we are to be overlooked indefinitely?
Was it a delusion, too, which made my darling, as I helped her into our
top-buggy on the morning of our twenty-fifth anniversary, seem to me no
less beautiful than on the day when we plighted our troth at the altar?
Did she not wear the same sweet, trusting smile, the same noble look in
her dear eyes? I told her so, and she informed me that I was demented,
but I know she knew that I thought she had not changed, which I am sure
was enough for her even if Providence has dimmed my eyes. Yet I
maintain that I am right. She is a little stouter, of course; I can
see a wrinkle and a crow's foot here and there; and her hair is
grizzled. But to all intents and purposes she does not look a day
older.
It was a glorious morning; one of those mild, mellow days of the late
autumn, when unscientific people wag their heads and proclaim that the
climate is changing.
Pages:
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164