Strathmore,"
Elsie said with a laugh; "but I confess I should be afraid of that she-
dragon of a wife of his."
"It's devilish interesting to know that you are afraid of anybody."
"At least," she went on, "I could go to New York and see Bishop
Candace. I can wind him round my finger. I'd tell him what Mrs.
Strathmore said about his Easter sermon last year. With a little
judicious comment that would do a good deal. I never yet saw a man that
couldn't be managed through his vanity."
"I suppose that explains why I'm as clay in your hands."
"Oh, you're not a man; you're a monster," she retorted, rising. "Well,
I must go and prepare for my comedy."
He regarded her with a look of evident admiration; a look not without a
savor of the sense of ownership, and, too, not entirely devoid of good-
natured insolence.
"You are devilishly well dressed for it," he observed.
"Thank you," returned Elsie, sweeping him a courtesy again. "The wife
that can win compliments from her own husband has indeed scored a
triumph."
Dr. Wilson puffed out a cloud of smoke with a characteristic chuckle.
"I have to admire you to justify my own taste.
Pages:
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275