How much the perfect
arrangement of domestic affairs demanded from his wife, Fenton found it
more easy and comfortable not to inquire, but he at least appreciated
the results of her management. He never came to accept the smallest
trifles of life without emotion. His pleasure or annoyance depended
upon minute details, and things which people in general passed without
notice were to him the most important facts of daily life. The
responsibility for the comfort of so highly organized a creature, Edith
had found to be anything but a light burden. Only a wife could have
appreciated the pleasure she had in having the most delicate shades in
her domestic management noted and enjoyed; or the discomfort which
arose from the same source. It was delightful to have her husband
pleased by the smallest pains she took for his comfort; to know that
his eye never failed to discover the little refinements of dress or
cookery or household adornment; but wearing was the burden of
understanding, too, that no flaw was too small to escape his sight.
Mrs. Fenton's friends rallied her upon being a slave to her
housekeeping; few of them were astute enough to understand that, kind
as was always his manner toward her, she was instead the slave of her
husband.
The room in which they were dining was one in which the artist took
especial pleasure. He had panelled it with stamped leather, which he
had picked up somewhere in Spain; while the ceiling was covered with a
novel and artistic arrangement of gilded matting.
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