Blue skies and shining sun, but far down on the horizon
one dark cloud gathers and drifts slowly upwards unobserved.
Frank Crosse was aware of its shadow when coming
down to breakfast he saw an envelope with a well-remembered
handwriting beside his plate. How he had loved
that writing once, how his heart had warmed and quickened
at the sight of it, how eagerly he had read it—and
now a viper coiled upon the white table-cloth would
hardly have given him a greater shock. Contradictory,
incalculable, whimsical life! A year ago how
scornfully he would have laughed, what contemptuous
unbelief would have filled his soul, if he had been
told that any letter of hers could have struck him
cold with the vague apprehension of coming misfortune.
He tore off the envelope and threw it into the fire.
But before he could glance at the letter there was
the quick patter of his wife’s feet upon the
stair, and she burst, full of girlish health and high
spirits, into the little room. She wore a pink
crepon dressing-gown, with cream guipure lace at the
neck and wrists. Pink ribbon outlined her trim
waist. The morning sun shone upon her, and she
seemed to him to be the daintiest, sweetest tiling
upon earth. He had thrust his letter into his
pocket as she entered.
‘You will excuse the dressing-gown, Frank.’
‘I just love you in it. No, you mustn’t
pass. Now you can go.’
’I was so afraid that you would breakfast without
me that I had no time to dress. I shall have
the whole day to finish in when you are gone.
There now—Jemima has forgotten to warm
the plates again! And your coffee is cold.
I wish you had not waited.’
‘Better cold coffee with Maude’s society.’
’I always thought men gave up complimenting
their wives after they married them. I am so
glad you don’t. I think on the whole that
women’s ideas of men are unfair and severe.
The reason is that the women who have met unpleasant
men run about and make a noise, but the women who
are happy just keep quiet and enjoy themselves.
For example, I have not time to write a book explaining
to every one how nice Frank Crosse is; but if he were
nasty my life would be empty, and so of course I should
write my book.’
‘I feel such a fraud when you talk like that.’
‘That is part of your niceness.’
‘Oh don’t, Maude! It really hurts
me.’
‘Why, Frank, what is the matter with you to-day?’
‘Nothing, dear.’
‘Oh yes, there is. I can tell easily.’
‘Perhaps I am not quite myself.’
’No, I am sure that you are not. I believe
that you have a cold coming on. O Frank, do
take some ammoniated quinine.’
‘Good heavens, no!’
‘Please! Please!’
‘My dear girlie, there is nothing the matter
with me.’
‘But it is such splendid stuff.’
Copyrights
A Duet : a duologue from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
