She was a born housewife. It was pleasant to have her do all the packing,
while I read or sauntered in the queer streets about the inns. And she
took complete charge of my wardrobe.
She had a talent for drawing, and as we went southward through England
she made sketches of the various houses that took our fancy--suggestions
for future home-building; we spent hours in the evenings in the inn
sitting-rooms incorporating new features into our residence, continually
modifying our plans. Now it was a Tudor house that carried us away, now a
Jacobean, and again an early Georgian with enfolding wings and a
wrought-iron grill. A stage of bewilderment succeeded.
Maude, I knew, loved the cottages best. She said they were more
"homelike." But she yielded to my liking for grandeur.
"My, I should feel lost in a palace like that!" she cried, as we gazed at
the Marquis of So-and-So's country-seat.
"Well, of course we should have to modify it," I admitted.
"Perhaps--perhaps our family will be larger."
She put her hand on my lips, and blushed a fiery red....
We examined, with other tourists, at a shilling apiece historic mansions
with endless drawing-rooms, halls, libraries, galleries filled with
family portraits; elaborate, formal bedrooms where famous sovereigns had
slept, all roped off and carpeted with canvas strips to protect the
floors. Through mullioned windows we caught glimpses of gardens and
geometrical parterres, lakes, fountains, statuary, fantastic topiary and
distant stretches of park. Maude sighed with admiration, but did not
covet. She had me. But I was often uncomfortable, resenting the vulgar,
gaping tourists with whom we were herded and the easy familiarity of the
guides. These did not trouble Maude, who often annoyed me by asking naive
questions herself. I would nudge her.
One afternoon when, with other compatriots, we were being hurried through
a famous castle, the guide unwittingly ushered us into a drawing-room
where the owner and several guests were seated about a tea-table. I shall
never forget the stares they gave us before we had time precipitately to
retreat, nor the feeling of disgust and rebellion that came over me. This
was heightened by the remark of a heavy, six-foot Ohioan with an
infantile face and a genial manner.
"I notice that they didn't invite us to sit down and have a bite," he
said. "I call that kind of inhospitable."
"It was 'is lordship himself!" exclaimed the guide, scandalized.
"You don't say!" drawled our fellow-countryman. "I guess I owe you
another shilling, my friend."
The guide, utterly bewildered, accepted it. The transatlantic point of
view towards the nobility was beyond him.
"His lordship could make a nice little income if he set up as a side
show," added the Ohioan.
Maude giggled, but I was furious. And no sooner were we outside the gates
than I declared I should never again enter a private residence by the
back door.
"Why, Hugh, how queer you are sometimes," she said.
"I maybe queer, but I have a sense of fitness," I retorted.
She asserted herself.
"I can't see what difference it makes. They didn't know us. And if they
admit people for money--"
"I can't help it. And as for the man from Ohio--"
"But he was so funny!" she interrupted. "And he was really very nice."
I was silent. Her point of view, eminently sensible as it was,
exasperated me. We were leaning over the parapet of a little-stone
bridge. Her face was turned away from me, but presently I realized that
she was crying. Men and women, villagers, passing across the bridge,
looked at us curiously. I was miserable, and somewhat appalled;
resentful, yet striving to be gentle and conciliatory. I assured her that
she was talking nonsense, that I loved her. But I did not really love her
at that moment; nor did she relent as easily as usual. It was not until
we were together in our sitting-room, a few hours later, that she gave
in. I felt a tremendous sense of relief.
"Hugh, I'll try to be what you want. You know I am trying. But don't kill
what is natural in me."