Early next morning while we were at breakfast, a huge box of flowers
and a Christmas package from Bennet came for me. It was fun to see
Roger's face when I was unwrapping the flowers. I think he would
have liked to trample upon them, he who did not love me! They were
chrysanthemums, and the other present was a beautiful little painting.
Mama asked Hamilton to hang it for us, and he said curtly that he
didn't know anything about such things.
Christmas morning thus started off rather badly, for any one could see
he was cross as a sore bear, which, I don't mind admitting, gave me a
feeling of wicked joy. To make matters worse, mama began to talk about
Dick. I tried to change the subject, but she persisted, and wanted to
know when I had heard from him last and whether he was still as much in
love with me as ever. There was no switching her from the subject, so I
left the table, and pretended to fool with the books in the library. He
followed me out there, and his face was just as black!
"So," he said, with an unpleasant laugh, "you've been having little
affairs and flirtations right along, have you? You're not the naïve,
innocent baby child you would like me to think, eh?"
"Now, Roger, look here," I said. "Didn't you tell me you weren't going
to scold me any more, and you said I could do as I pleased, and be
independent and--"
"I supposed you would be candid and truthful with me; I didn't suppose
you'd be carrying on cheap little liaisons--"
When he got that far, I turned my back on him and walked out of the
room.