Prudence was mere waste of time to his
courage and assurance. And he believed, though without going into the
psychology of the situation, that Bessie would be happier with a child or
two.
"Oh, how can we do any more?" she answered, in her pretty, spoiled way.
"We're trying to cut a two-yard garment out of a one-yard piece now." At
least, she was; and so Guy was.
Well, it wasn't a great matter yet. It is not in the early years of
marriage that that lack is most felt. And Bessie was not very strong; she
never seemed really well any more. She developed a succession of small
ailments, lassitudes, nerves. She dragged on the hand of life, and
complained. The local physician drugged her with a commendable spirit of
optimism and scientific experiment. But the drawl of the light voice with
its rising inflection became distinctly a whine.
She got a way of surprising Guy and upsetting his calculations with
unannounced extravagances. "What's the good of all this drudgery? We're
making no headway, getting nowhere; we might as well have what good we can
as we go along."
There was a negro woman in the kitchen now, and in the sitting-room one of
the new sewing-machines.
Pages:
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48