Frostwinch's before dinner, and I was late about getting
home."
There was a certain wistfulness in her manner which betrayed her
anxiety lest he should be vexed at the trifling delay. Arthur Fenton
was too well bred to be often openly unkind to anybody, but none the
less was his wife afraid of his displeasure. He was one of those men
who have the power of making their disapproval felt from the simple
fact that they feel it so strongly themselves. The most oppressive of
domestic tyrants are by no means those who vent their ill-nature in
open words. The man who strenuously insists to himself upon his will,
and cherishes in silence his dislike of whatever is contrary to it, is
oftener a harder man to live with than one who is violently outspoken.
Fenton was hardly conscious of the absolute despotism with which he
ruled his home, but his wife was too susceptible to his moods not to
feel keenly the unspoken protest with which he met any infringement
upon his wishes or his pleasure. Tonight he was in good humor, and his
sense of beauty was touched by the loveliness of her appearance.
"Oh, it is no matter," he answered lightly. "How stunning you look.
That topaz," he continued, walking toward her, and laying his finger
upon the single jewel she wore fastened at the edge of the square-cut
corsage of her gown, "is exactly right. It is so deep in color that it
gives the one touch you need.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25