She looked at me, and I praised the room and its dainty
tastefulness to her heart’s content, so that
she said: “Well, it’s some satisfaction
to show you anything, Mr. Homos, you are so appreciative.
I’m sure you’ll give a good account of
us to the Altrurians. Well, now we’ll go
back to the pa—drawing-room. This
is the end of the story.”
“Well,” said her husband, with a wink
at me, “I thought it was to be continued in
our next,” and he nodded towards the door that
opened from his wife’s bower into the room adjoining.
“Why, you poor old fellow!” she shouted.
“I forgot all about your room,”
and she dashed into it before us and began to show
it off. It was equipped with every bachelor luxury,
and with every appliance for health and comfort.
“And here,” she said, “he can smoke,
or anything, as long as he keeps the door shut.
Oh, good gracious! I forgot the bath-room,”
and they both united in showing me this, with its
tiled floor and walls and its porcelain tub; and then
Mrs. Makely flew up the corridor before us. “Put
out the electrics, Dick!” she called back over
her shoulder.
When we were again seated in the drawing-room, which
she had been so near calling a parlor, she continued
to bubble over with delight in herself and her apartment.
“Now, isn’t it about perfect?” she
urged, and I had to own that it was indeed very convenient
and very charming; and in the rapture of the moment
she invited me to criticise it.
“I see very little to criticise,” I said,
“from your point of view; but I hope you won’t
think it indiscreet if I ask a few questions?”
She laughed. “Ask anything, Mr. Homos!
I hope I got hardened to your questions in the mountains.”
“She said you used to get off some pretty tough
ones,” said her husband, helpless to take his
eyes from her, although he spoke to me.
“It is about your servants,” I began.
“Oh, of course! Perfectly characteristic!
Go on.”
“You told me that they had no natural light
either in the kitchen or their bedroom. Do they
never see the light of day?”
The lady laughed heartily. “The waitress
is in the front of the house several hours every morning
at her work, and they both have an afternoon off once
a week. Some people only let them go once a fortnight;
but I think they are human beings as well as we are,
and I let them go every week.”
“But, except for that afternoon once a week,
your cook lives in electric-light perpetually?”
“Electric-light is very healthy, and it doesn’t
heat the air!” the lady triumphed, “I
can assure you that she thinks she’s very well
off; and so she is.” I felt a little temper
in her voice, and I was silent, until she asked me,
rather stiffly, “Is there any other inquiry
you would like to make?”
“Yes,” I said, “but I do not think
you would like it.”
