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The whole effect of the room was as bare and squalid to Theron's newly informed eye as the atmosphere was offensive to his nostrils. He coughed sharply, and his wife sat up and looked at the clock. It was after eleven. "Where on earth have you been?" she asked, with a yawn, turning up the wick of her sewing-lamp again.
What was it that made her look so different from other girls, and yet so nice? "I like the way you dress, Ray; you and Dot;" he said to her, when tea was over and taken away, and she was replacing the cloth and setting the sewing-lamp down upon the table. "You don't snarl yourselves up. I can't bear a tangle of things." Ray colored.
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