It was while we were honeymooning at Niagara, that Aunt Julia, in a
letter dated from her home, at Tarrytown-on-the-Hudson, wrote to tell us
that she had secured a cook for us, a colored woman, who had been highly
recommended, and whom we should find awaiting us when we took possession
of our cunning little domicile.
"I need not say, my dear Letitia," she wrote, "that a good servant is
merely the result of a sensible and far-seeing mistress. Be firm with
her, but not necessarily unsympathetic. Remember that the servant-girl
question and its many evils constitute a grave national problem. I think
you may consider yourselves lucky. Anna Carter appears to be an
excellent servant."
This letter reached us the day before we returned to New York. Letitia
read it aloud to me at breakfast as we sat before our morning eggs. It
had a prosaic sound, but--well, morning eggs are not freighted with
romance. Unfortunately, we were neither of us built for a diet of
rose-leaves and dew-drops, delightful though they would have been,
during the honeymoon. I am, however, bound to say that Letitia's
extremely healthy appetite did not disenchant me. Nor, when I returned
for a second egg, furtively during the first week, but more boldly later
on, did Letitia repine at my materialism. One thing we did avoid--and
that was the distasteful discussion of food. We ate what was placed
before us without comment. Only once was this tacit rule broken. It was
when, at dinner, Letitia rompingly annexed an evil oyster. Even then,
she merely uttered a little cry of pain--which went to my heart--and
dropped the subject; also the oyster.
"It is really awfully good of Aunt Julia," she said, pretending not to
notice that I had arrived at egg number three. "She is a dear, good old
soul. I am delighted at the prospect of a colored maid. Aren't you,
Archie?"
"They are always very good-tempered and docile," I replied, "and with
you, Letitia, any girl will be exceedingly happy. Ah, in the years to
come, Anna Carter may be our 'old retainer,' to be pensioned off. Think
of her weeping, and begging to be allowed to remain with us--clinging to
us, as it were, and even offering to stay without wages."
"Which I should never allow,"--Letitia's tone was wonderfully firm--"I
can't imagine how self-respecting people permit such a thing. They
always do it in plays. I shan't countenance it. If Anna persists in
staying with us, when she is too old to work, then she shall have
exactly the same wages. Am I not right, Archie?"
"Always," I cried admiringly; "always, my dear girl."
"I think," said Letitia musingly, "I think a colored maid always looks
so neat and attractive in a plain black dress, buttoned down the front,
and a white cap--something fluffy and lacey--a wide, stiff, white collar
and pretty cuffs. I shall dress Anna Carter like that. I have quite made
up my mind to it. Oh, Archie," she went on rapturously, "don't you think
that the _bonnes_ in Paris--you see them in the Champs Elysées, and
everywhere--look perfectly lovely in the caps with the long satin
ribbons trailing to the ground?"
"But they are nurses, dear," I suggested, just for the sake of arguing
with my little wife.
"That doesn't matter at all," she cried triumphantly. "There's no law to
prevent our dressing Anna in just that style, if we like, is there,
Archie? You must admit that there isn't. I shall get her a pretty cap,
with yards of olive-green ribbon, to match the burlap on the
dining-room wall. Isn't it a charming idea? And colored people love a
bit of finery--a ribbon or so. I can imagine her delight. I hope she
isn't fearfully colored--an unbecoming shade--as green would be such a
bad match. We should be obliged to have red, and that would be so
glaring with the green walls. I can't help feeling a bit sorry--since we
have heard from Aunt Julia--that we didn't have red burlap in the
dining-room. But one can't think of everything, can one, Archie?"
"No, dear," I said soothingly. "You are a wonderful little woman to have
thought of all this."
"And I do hope," she went on, "that Anna has a black dress, buttoning
down the front. I have set my heart on it, Archie. It may be a trifle,
but somehow or other, those old-fashioned buttoned bodices look so
comfortable and homelike."
We journeyed exultantly back to New York, eager to get to our home. We
could scarcely wait. To be sure, the hotel at Niagara was delightful. We
had the "bridal suite" and all the luxuries that money could
command--for a honeymoon comes but once to people with our ideas. Still
this hotel life, even under such advantageous circumstances, palled upon
us. We did not care for sight-seeing, and the pastimes of the hayseed
mind. The fact that the Falls happened to be there, brought little
satisfaction to us. We stayed at the hotel most of the time, and tried
to imagine that it was home. Letitia read Ovid's _Ars Amatoria_ and _The
Responsive Epistles of Aulus Sabinus_. Aunt Julia had given us Hall
Caine's _Eternal City_, and Marie Corelli's _Temporal Power_, but
Letitia threw them from the window of the train. They took up so much
valuable room. They were mute testimony to a disorderly mind, she said,
and I quite agreed with her.
On our way back Letitia announced that she had sent a telepathic message
to Anna Carter. She sat quite motionless for ten minutes, during which
time she tried to impress Miss Carter's mind with a picture of
ourselves.
"Sometimes it works," she said, "and sometimes it doesn't. It all
depends upon the psychic endowment of the recipient. Some of the negroes
have an exceptional psychic equipment. At any rate, Archie, it doesn't
cost anything but the mental effort. Telepathy is cheaper than
telegraphy. Anna will probably know that we are coming."
"I think a wire would have been surer, dear," I ventured. "I really
don't mind the expense. I don't want my little girl to be too
laboriously economical."
At the Grand Central Station we parted for the first time since our
wedding--I, to set forth for my office in West Twenty-third Street,
where I was junior partner of a profitable little publishing house,
which would ultimately offer my _Lives of Great Men_ to the world;
Letitia to go home. How sweet the word sounded! In reality, I could have
postponed my visit to the office until the next day. But I was anxious
to savor the delight of "going home" to Letitia at the conventional
hour. I wanted to see what it was like--this return to a sweet,
expectant little wife, eagerly looking for me out of the window, while
the "neat-handed Phyllis" prepared a cozy dinner. Letitia quite
understood why I went to the office, and she was delighted at the pretty
subterfuge.
It was almost impossible to sink my mind to the dull level of business.
They must have found me singularly unresponsive at the office. The
details of the publishing business seemed unusually sordid, and I am
afraid I spent most of the time looking at my watch, and waiting for the
moment when I could legitimately rejoin Letitia. My partner, Arthur
Tamworth, evidently regarded me as a joke, and uttered various
pleasantries of the usual caliber. However, I asked him up to dinner one
night during the week, and he accepted the invitation with gusto.
At five o'clock I left the office, and half an hour later I arrived at
my dainty little uptown apartment. Sure enough, Letitia was looking out
of the window on the third floor and waving a handkerchief. Regardless
of appearances, I kissed my hand, overjoyed at the sight of domesticity
realized. Briskly I reached the elevator, and almost knocked down a most
remarkable looking lady who was stepping out. I begged her pardon
abjectly. She wore one of those peculiar veils, with an eruption of
large, angry, violet spots, through which I could see that she was
colored. Her dress was of mauve silk, and her hat was a veritable
flower-garden of roses, violets, and lilies of the valley. She chuckled
coonily at my apology and pursued her way.
"Who on earth is that?" I asked the elevator boy.
That official seemed tired. He answered indifferently: "Somebody's cook,
I suppose."
I couldn't help laughing. "Somebody's cook!" I repeated. "Who in the
world would own a cook like that?" It was an amusing idea, and I quite
enjoyed it.
Letitia opened the door herself, which was charming and unconventional.
She wore an exquisite little dinner dress of pink taffeta (I believe)
trimmed with white chiffon (I imagine). Her neck and arms gleamed in
enchanting evening revelation. We had both resolved always to "dress"
for dinner. Probably Aunt Julia would accuse us of our favorite pastime
of "aping," but we had not discussed the matter with her. "Dressing for
dinner" was merely a little delicate formality that cost nothing at all.
We looked upon it as a mutual courtesy--one of those small refinements
that mean so much to the well-bred mind. Even when we were entirely
alone, evening dress was to be _de rigueur_, as they say in plebeian
circles.
"Oh, Archie!" cried Letitia, "I'm so glad you've come, dear. It must
have been at least a week since we parted. Isn't the 'home' lovely? Oh,
I can scarcely believe it is mine. Now, run away and dress, like a good
boy, and then we'll talk."
I struggled into my evening clothes. My new dinner coat was a
particularly fetching garment, and I flattered myself, as I emerged from
my room--it seemed smaller than ever--that there was something
distinctly patrician about me.
Letitia was in the drawing-room with Ovid. A lamp with a red shade cast
a rosy light upon her. Anything prettier than this picture I have never
seen. I went in rather coyly, and fell over the tiger-head, at which
Letitia laughed merrily--still the same, bright, unchanged little girl.
When I had picked myself up, I looked out a channel between chairs,
stools, sofas and what-nots, and plowed myself through it gingerly,
until I reached Letitia.
"Now, dear girl," I said, "tell me everything. Begin with Anna Carter."
She took my hand as I sat beside her on the sofa. "Well," she started,
"Anna was quite surprised to see me. She had not received my telepathic
message. You remember I sent it at 11:32 this morning. But it appears
that she was singing at that time. Isn't it fun, Archie? When I arrived,
I found Anna at the piano practising her scales."
"How extremely--er--disrespectful!"
"Nonsense," laughed Letitia, "it seems that she belongs to a choral
society and is first soprano. You know, Archie, I thought it best to be
sympathetic at first. So I listened to her. I imagined that she was
going to apologize for being discovered at the piano. But she didn't.
She merely explained. The choral work will render it necessary for her
to go out every night--"
"But, my dear--"
"Don't interrupt, Archie. After dinner, you know, we really don't need
anybody. The old rigid idea of mewing a girl up in her room all evening
is a bit out of date--don't you think so, dear, in these enlightened
days? And isn't it much better to know that a cook is a woman above the
usual old-time, sordid, servant brand? Her voice is really beautiful.
She told me that they are rehearsing the _Messiah_ for Christmas Eve. I
was quite impressed with her."
"What does she look like?" I was a bit sullen, as so much oddity
perplexed me.
"Well," Letitia replied, "she didn't expect us, as my telepathic message
miscarried. It was a pity, after all, dear, that I didn't take your
advice and send a wire. Anna did not wear a black dress buttoned down
the front. Probably she will appear in that to-morrow. I found her in
mauve silk--really magnificently made, and her hair was done pompadour.
She looked just like one of Williams and Walker's girls in _In
Dahomey_."
"Mauve silk!" I cried in surprise, "why Letitia, just as I was entering
the elevator to come up here, I fell against a most remarkable looking
coon in mauve, with a veil, and a hat like the Trianon gardens at
Versailles."
"It was Anna!" cried Letitia merrily. "She had to go out very early
to-night, as the rehearsal was called for seven o'clock. You needn't
look so vexed, Archie. This is surely our festival time, and why
shouldn't Anna be in it? Time enough for discipline later. You silly
boy, to frown and pout in that way--"
Letitia kissed me, and I felt quite ashamed of my momentary ill-temper.
I must have inherited an ugly propensity for slave-driving. Here I was,
forgetting that this was our first night at home, because, forsooth, our
cook had gone out in mauve silk to sing!
"What about dinner?" I asked, and I succeeded in smiling.
"It's all right, you ravenous person," she replied. "To-night, Anna has
provided us what she calls a delicatessen dinner. I don't know what it
is--but I left it all to her. She suggested it, and was astonished when
I didn't know what it meant. She told me that it is very popular in New
York, and that she can always get us one, even if she should have to go
out earlier. I dare say it's lovely, Archie. She has laid it out in the
dining-room, and I haven't looked at it, because I thought it would be
jollier for us to make our acquaintance with the delicatessen dinner
together. Anna isn't a bit servile, or humble, and I rather like that. I
hate to see these women cowed. Not for a moment did Anna seem cowed."
My good spirits returned. After all, it was exceedingly delightful to
listen to my loquacious little wife, as she sat there in her pretty
evening clothes. The idea of the delicatessen dinner--whatever it might
be--alone with Letitia, in our newly-acquired home, was simply
captivating.
We went into the dining-room, arm-in-arm, and I almost wished that there
was somebody there to snapshot us. My wife, with her blonde hair
beautifully arranged, and her soft, pink silk draperies, with the white
swirls of chiffon, was a vision of loveliness; and beside her, in my
immaculate white waistcoat and admirable _piqué_ shirt, I afforded a
sympathetic contrast.
The dining-room, with its green burlap and handsome furniture, was
absolutely correct, and in the glow of the electric lights looked like
fairy-land. The effect was somewhat marred by the appearance of the
festive board. It was scarcely festive.
"Isn't it odd?" cried Letitia.
And it was. On a quaint little thin wooden plate, was a mound of very
cold looking potato salad. On another of these peculiar little dishes,
were half a dozen slices of red sausage with white lumps in it. On a
third wooden dish reposed two enormous pickles, very knobby and green. A
loaf of bread lurked at one end of the table. Two plates and a knife
and fork apiece completed the service, with a pitcher of water and two
glasses.
"Where is our pretty dinner set, I wonder?" asked Letitia; "I don't
remember these funny little wooden dishes. And--what's in that paper
parcel?"
The paper parcel, by the loaf of bread, had escaped our notice. Letitia
opened it, and revealed an immense piece of Gruyère cheese, very hole-y,
and appetizing looking, and moist, but appearing to lack a cheese dish,
and the necessary table equipment.
"What a strange way of laying a table!" I remarked rather gloomily,
feeling decidedly small in my satin-lined dinner-coat, and _piqué_
shirt-front.
"It is rather like camping out," said Letitia, in a perplexed voice,
"but perhaps this is merely the _hors-d'oeuvres_ course. Anna said
something about an ice-box. Let's investigate, dear. It really is fun,
though, isn't it?"
Letitia led the way to the kitchen, her pink silk dress rustling
musically. A few moments before, I had wished for somebody to snapshot
us. But as we stood, peering into the ice-box, in our rigid evening
dress, I felt rather relieved that we were alone. I should have hated
Aunt Julia to have been there. In the ice-box there was nothing but ice
and one bottle of ale, part of which had been consumed. The ice-box
seemed awfully cold and we shivered, though we naturally shouldn't have
expected an ice-box to be warm. Returning to the dining-room, rather
meditative, and serious, and amazed, we sat down to table. There seemed
to be such a quantity of table. It was almost appalling.
"You must buy a plant, Archie," said Letitia. "Aunt Julia always has a
fern, or something, in the middle of the table. It looks so dressy."
I refrained from saying that Aunt Julia also had other things on the
table. That would have been unnecessary. After all, this was a novelty,
and it is only hopelessly conservative minds that ruthlessly reject
innovation.
And in spite of all, our first delicatessen dinner passed off gaily
enough. In fact, the potato salad was delicious and we both agreed that
Anna Carter was certainly a good cook. We were hungry, and the slices of
sausage disappeared very quickly. We ate the pickles, not as a relish,
but desperately, as solid food. They were almost a course, by
themselves.
"I'm really glad, Archie," said Letitia, "that Anna is out. This is so
amusing, and for our first night at home, so appropriate. It would have
been embarrassing to have had Anna hovering around, passing things."
Although it occurred to me that Anna would have found very few things to
pass, I did not say so. My mind had righted itself, and I was enjoying
myself. The bread was fresh and appetizing. Never had I eaten so much
bread, and with the hunks of Gruyère cheese I felt almost like a
day-laborer. All I needed was a clasp-knife and a red handkerchief. I
mentioned this to Letitia, and we both laughed so heartily that we
forgot everything but our mirth.
"My dear old day-laborer in a Tuxedo coat!" said Letitia.
"And my dear old day-laborer's wife in low neck!" I added, catering to
her fantasy.
It really was very jolly. I don't believe that we could have been any
jollier had there been ten courses, winding up with a _parfait au café_
and a _demi-tasse_. Instead of these, we finished our dinner with the
remainder of the pickles and a nice glass of cool water. Letitia drank
my health and I drank hers. We clinked glasses in the continental
fashion. Then we waited, for we couldn't dispossess our minds of the
belief that there was something to follow. I wouldn't admit to Letitia
that I felt a trifle--er--incomplete; while Letitia certainly made no
such confession. Yet there was a something lacking--an indescribable
finishing touch. The delicatessen dinner undoubtedly lacked a finishing
touch. It was all beginning. The appearance of the table after dinner
was even more eccentric than we had found it at first sight. The empty
wooden dishes, the paper that had held the Gruyère, and the two mere
plates, had no suggestion of rollicking dissipation. Nor did they even
suggest an overweening domesticity.
Letitia, at last, rose from the table and I did the same. I advanced to
the door and opened it for her, and she passed into the drawing-room,
leaving me alone to enjoy a whiff or two of my cigarette. We determined
to keep up the etiquette of refined life in its every ramification. The
door of the bathroom stood wide open and rather spoiled the illusion.
But Letitia did not notice it. I saw her pass down the hall like a
queen, her head in the air, and her pink silk dress _froufrou_-ing
deliciously.
I threw myself back in an arm-chair, and sighed luxuriously. Then,
before joining Letitia, I donned my smoking-jacket, and felt exquisitely
at home. This was comfort, such as the maddened bachelor, in his
infuriated solitude, can scarcely imagine. The petty cares of life took
unto themselves wings and fled.
Letitia, in the drawing-room, awaited me anxiously. We were both
inclined to look upon the prescribed separation of the sexes after
dinner as a relic of barbarism. But it was a polite relic, and we had no
intention of shirking it. She looked up from her Ovid as I entered, and
then, rising, she threw her arms around me and kissed me.
It was eight o'clock, and we had a long evening before us. I had
promised myself a holiday from my _Lives of Great Men_ to-night. Letitia
had guaranteed entertainment, and this took the form of reading a
translation of Ovid, aloud. She would have preferred to entertain me in
the original, but excellent Latin scholar though I was, I clamored for a
translation. With one's wife, a man can be perfectly frank. Ovid, in the
original, was a trifle--heavy.
She read on, and on--and still on. "Banquets, too, with the tables
arranged, afford an introduction; there is something there besides wine
for you to look for. Full oft does blushing Cupid, with his delicate
arms, press the soothed horns of Bacchus there present. And when the
wine has besprinkled the soaking wings of Cupid, there he remains and
stands overpowered on the spot of his capture. He, indeed, quickly
flaps his moistened wings, but still it is fatal for the breast to be
sprinkled by love. Wine composes the feeling--"
The clock struck ten. I interrupted Letitia rather irrelevantly. "My
dear girl," I said, "I hate to be so prosaic, but I really feel horribly
empty."
She looked at me rather oddly, I thought. "You feel empty?" she queried;
"what an atrocious expression, Archie. If you mean by that, that you are
hungry--"
"I am, Letitia, ravenously hungry. In fact, I feel quite faint. I can't
think of Ovid, but only of supper. Oh, Letitia, a team of deviled
kidneys--"
"Don't," she cried, "don't. I can't bear it. Isn't it disgraceful,
Archie? I, too, am simply starving. It must be that bracing atmosphere
of Niagara. It has made plow-boys of us. Never before have I felt that
Ovid was a trifle--er--inadequate. Yet we have dined, Archie. We have
partaken of a delicatessen dinner. We ate everything--"
"I believe," I said feverishly, "that there was a little bread left. We
did not eat the entire loaf, Letitia. I am quite sure that there was a
heel--a crust--on the table. It caught my eye. Shall we--shall we go and
see?"
We went back to the dining-room, _not_ arm-in-arm. And truly enough, we
discovered that half a loaf was indeed better than no bread. I cut the
crust in two and nobly gave Letitia the larger piece--nobly, but I am
bound to say, enviously. Once more I felt relieved that there were no
camera fiends to intrude upon our privacy. Letitia, in her _décolleté_
pink silk gown, eating dry bread with a famished expression, seemed
unconventional. So did I, as I buried my teeth in the fresh, crisp
crust. There was no butter. Had there been butter,--well, we should
merely have eaten it. We drank some more of that nice cool water, that
bubbled as I poured it from the pitcher with uplifted hand.
"And now, dear," I said, "as I am going to be hungry again in five
minutes--I feel it coming on--I think I'll go to bed, and forget it."
"We--we--can't go to bed yet," murmured Letitia, "we must wait for Anna.
She has no latch-key, and can't get in--"
"Can't get in?" I exclaimed--and I'm afraid I was testy--"surely she
intends to conform to the rules of all well-appointed establishments--"
"Now you are wrong, dear," said my wife nervously. "It is not her fault
that she has no latch-key. She asked for one. Yes, Archie, she even
demanded it. It was very considerate of her. It is quite impossible for
her ever to be back before midnight, and she hated the idea of keeping
us up. It was very nice of her, and you shouldn't misjudge people,
Archie. To-morrow, we will all have latch-keys. At present, we are
without them, so I couldn't lend her one."
"Then there is an hour and a half to wait--"
"Oh, Archie,"--Letitia's eyes filled with tears--"you are getting to be
a regular--husband! You talk of waiting an hour and a half--alone with
me--as though it were a hardship. Oh, I'm so sorry. I never could have
believed--"
A stinging sense of remorse overcame me. I could have bitten out my
tongue for those foolish words. I explained that it was not the hour and
a half of waiting with Letitia that annoyed me; I protested that it was
the principle of the thing; I insinuated that I was unstrung, and still
hungry; I--but I fancy that Letitia understood. She smiled again, and
declared that she was too sensitive--and also a bit hungry. So we went
back to the drawing-room, and once more immersed ourselves in the
intellectual contemplation of Venus, and Paris, and Cupid, and Diana,
and Bacchus, and Thalia,--with minds out-rushing to Anna Carter.
Shortly after midnight the electric bell pealed and Letitia flew to the
door.
"It's Anna!" she cried joyously, as though it could possibly be anybody
else.
Miss Carter glided in, enormous and imposing. She almost filled the
hall. Letitia and I were obliged to lean tightly against the wall in
order to let her pass. She surveyed Letitia's costume in bland
astonishment.
"Say!" she exclaimed, "don't you jes' look too cute for words! My! Ain't
it stylish?"
"To-morrow you must have a latch-key, Anna," said Letitia majestically.
"You can now retire."
The mauve silk dress made twice as much rustle as Letitia's. Its owner
passed to her room, humming in a very exhilarating manner. My wife and
I, a trifle awed, moved rather gloomily toward our own apartment.
"An egg apiece, and some cawfee in the morning, I suppose."
The words floated in to us. They came from Anna's room. Letitia looked
at me, and I looked at Letitia. Certainly our handmaiden was neither
abject nor cowed. Yet we were bound to uphold the spirit of
independence, the very backbone of our institutions.
"Anna!" called Letitia. I noticed a timid inflection in her voice but
as I said nothing myself, I was unable to notice anything similar in my
own.
"Never call to me," Letitia ventured to remark, as cook appeared with
her mauve silk bodice unbuttoned, revealing a pair of scarlet corsets,
"always come. I am not at all inaccessible," she added loftily. "Yes,
eggs and coffee will do for to-morrow. We shall breakfast at--"
"Nine," interrupted Anna.
Letitia pondered for a moment, and then nodded her head assentingly as
Anna departed. I felt relieved that she left when she did. She was
slowly disrobing, as she stood before us, and I anticipated a
catastrophe if she remained two minutes longer.
"Nine is awfully late, Letitia," I said, "I really ought to be at the
office at eight--"
"I don't want Anna to think you are a bricklayer, dear," asserted
Letitia. "One never hears of really nice people breakfasting at such an
ungodly hour. You see, she herself suggested nine. Evidently, Archie,
she has been in good families. Later on, I can always explain to her
that we desire an earlier meal. But just at first--"
"But, my dear girl," I said weakly, "you are really mistaken in your
notion that it is only the bricklayer world that rises in the early
morning. The best people do it. Why, Gladstone was at his desk every day
at six--"
"Oh, Gladstone!" she protested with a smile, dismissing the late right
honorable gentleman from her consideration, as though he were not a mere
mortal of flesh and blood, with everyday sensations; "you mustn't
mention Gladstone, dear. If you were Gladstone, you could afford to do
as you liked--to have your breakfast at midnight, and indulge in other
eccentricities."
This was a bit irritating. Naturally, I knew I was not quite in the same
class as the gentlemen who have made history, but one does not care to
be reminded of that fact by one's wife. Even in jest, such a remark
seemed unnecessary. But it was not a matter to argue. I took no further
heed of it, and turned to the more vital question of our cook.
"Don't you think that she is extremely familiar--"
"Well, dear, perhaps friendly," said Letitia. "I think I prefer it to
servility. These bashful, deferential women are probably sneaky and
deceitful. Still, of course, I shall not permit her to be as friendly as
she was to-night. One must have discipline."
Letitia was combing out her hair before the silver, beveled mirror. I
watched the comb as it strayed through the shining golden strands. I
was soothed by the sight, that appealed to my sense of the artistic.
"To-morrow, dear," I said, "I suppose you will give her the cap with the
olive-green ribbons trailing the ground, and inquire about the black
dress buttoned down the front?"
Letitia was silent. She tugged at a refractory bit of hair and not until
it had earned its right to pass through the comb, unmolested, did she
speak.
"I was thinking, Archie," she said reflectively, "that some girls attach
so much more importance to little matters of that sort, if a man--if a
man puts it to them. Aunt Julia has often told me that she would have
had a much easier time if there had been a man in the house. Perhaps,
Archie, you would like to--"
"Not at all, Letitia," I remarked with emphasis, "not for worlds, dear,
would I interfere in your household matters. It is good of you to
suggest it, Letitia, and to permit me the luxury of meddling. But no,
dear,"--in tones of noble self-sacrifice--"I shall refrain."
"Well, then, to-morrow," she said pensively, "I will attend to the
matter. No doubt Anna will be delighted. And, Archie, she has just the
sort of face that would look well beneath a cap."
"I didn't like her in the hat trimmed with Trianon gardens," I muttered
with strange persistence.
"Perhaps it was a bit elaborate," Letitia agreed. "But now, Archie, I'm
sleepy, and--let us drop Anna. Next week, perhaps, I shall buy her a
pretty little black bonnet, tied with strings, under the chin. I intend
to treat her nicely and generously and--"
"I know I shall emaciate during the night," I couldn't help declaring,
as I switched off the light, "I'm as hungry as a hunter, and--and--we
finished the bread!"