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She explained to him that his local colour was so brilliant that it dazzled her; but the ignoble truth was that she found it boring, although her letters going out of town were splashed thickly with his name. At the faculty wives Kathryn looked askance. They most of them knew things and they wore their clothes as if they were accustomed to them.
"Do you think daddy will like that letter?" she asked. Her mother's voice was a bit uneven as she answered. "I'm sure he will, little sweetheart I'm sure he will." "Now," requested the child, "you read yours." Kathryn, drawing the child to her, bent forward.
His sermon ended, Brenton bowed his head in a benediction which, in his heart, he sent most earnestly upon his wife. Perchance the selfsame hour that saw his self-vindication should also see the rending of the veil of non-comprehension which had fallen down between the two of them. The luncheon hour, however, brought with it disillusion. Over the luncheon, Kathryn spoke.
She strolled forward through the sun-flecked garden. A magazine, its leaves still uncut, was in her hand. She sank into a chair, in a spot from which she might see the Sound and its burden of sails. "Tom come yet?" she asked. Kathryn shook her head. "Not yet." "Heard from Jack to-day?" Again Kathryn made negation. "The foreign mail hasn't come yet," she said.
Neither, she reflected swiftly, was Scott Brenton quite the sort of man to offer it. Meanwhile, Kathryn, seated in a chair a good deal lower than the laws of perfect grace dictated, huddled her shabby dressing gown about her, ran a vaguely apologetic hand through her puggy pompadour, and went on with her domestic narration. "It's so queer what sets them off, Miss Keltridge.
He essayed to lift her; but even the tiny weight of the little form was too much for his shattered strength. His head sunk upon the table, arm-buried. His body shook. The child did not see; which was well. She was looking at her mother. "Mother, dear," she said reproachfully. "You forgot to kiss daddy." "Did I? I'm sorry." Willingly Kathryn went to him. He raised thin, white hand in protest.
"And you'll divorce him?" Kathryn shook her head. "No," she replied softly, "I'll go to him." Elinor started. "What!" she cried, untrustful of her own ears. "I have failed in my duty; you have shown me wherein I have failed. I'll go to him." Elinor caught her hand. "Kate!" she pleaded. "Kate, dear, listen to me!
"Do you remember the time, Kathryn, you had to learn the 116th Psalm for Miss Meredith, and thought she said the 119th?" said a plump young matron with the contented look which belongs to mothers of happy little families. "I remember if you don't for you made our nights and days miserable hearing you, and then it was all a mistake." "Do you remember the first debate we had on woman's rights?
Brass candlesticks and old Venetian glass were huddled away in inlaid cabinets, and half-hidden with old illuminated breviaries and pinned rolls of lace. A kind of madness seized Aunt Kathryn. She must have thought of Mrs. Potter Adriance, for suddenly she wanted everything she saw, and said so, sotto voce, to Mr. Barrymore. Then the bargaining began. And there was nothing Dog-like about Beppo.
Knowing Brenton, it seemed incredible to the doctor that he could have been so supinely idiotic as to have allowed himself, against his will, to be gobbled up by Kathryn for it was thus that Doctor Eustace Keltridge diagnosed their entrance into matrimony. However, the doctor lacked some knowledge of the determining factors in the case.
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