"Oh, my _dear_ Sophy!" cried his wife. "Don't mention the word
'_Caweer_' to me.... You American women are _so_ fortunate in not having
to sit up night and day with your husbands' 'Caweers.' Why, even on our
honeymoon Jack carried along those _howid_ red-boxes! For _hours_ he'd
shut himself up alone with them.... But thanks, dear--he's getting along
nicely--he and his 'Caweer.' Ouf! what a dull year this has been in
Parliament! The only interesting things have taken place in foreign
parts, and the House of Commons _never_ takes much interest in foreign
and colonial affairs, you know. It loves to get wrought up over home
questions--party rows, and that sort of thing. Fancy what it's been like
when all they've had to debate over--poor dears!--was Vaccination and
Calf-lymph and the Benefices Bill!"
Oh, how strange it seemed to Sophy, thus to be sitting and listening to
Olive's political "patter"! Before she knew it, a whole world of thought
had risen about her, as at the rubbing of a magic lamp. Olive rose at
last, saying:
"It's really _too_ bad of your Pwince Charming not to come in while I'm
here. But I'll see him at dinner to-morrow. I'm so glad, my Sweet, that
you're happy at last!"
She embraced Sophy twice, kissed her impulsively, and was gone.
"_Happy at last!_"
Sophy stood where Olive had left her--moving her slim shoe slightly from
side to side. She gazed at the hotel carpet which was strewn with little
grey roses. She counted those that lay near her feet. First from left to
right, then from right to left. As long as she counted carefully, she
could not think clearly. She did not want to think clearly. She felt as
though buried alive under a glittering wreck. It was the palace of her
own life that had crumbled about her. She was cramped in a tiny space.
Air came to her through chinks in the shattered fabric. Food was passed
to her through these interstices. But she must crouch very still in one
position till she died....