To be gracious in
the _role_ of a _grande dame_ would have pleased her, but she resented
the necessity; and she avenged herself upon fate by gloating upon the
stupidity of that power in wasting her energies in these petty things,
when results so brilliant might have been attained by a more wise
utilization of her cleverness.
This morning, for instance, when Mrs. Sampson chatted affably with the
carpenter who had come to do an odd job in the china closet of her tiny
dining-room, she really enjoyed the talk. She was one of those women
who cannot help liking to chat with a man, and John Stanton was both
good looking enough and intelligent enough to make her willing to exert
herself for his entertainment. This did not, however, prevent her being
inwardly indignant that she felt herself compelled to converse with
Stanton because experience had taught her that a little amiability
properly exhibited was sure to increase the work and lessen the bill at
the same time. She did not forego the pleasure of pitying herself
because she chanced to find the task imposed upon her an agreeable one.
There are few people in this world who are sufficiently just and
sufficiently sane to deny themselves the luxury of self pity merely
because the occasion does not justify that feeling.
Stanton, with his coat off and his strong arms bare to the elbow, was
planing down a shelf to make it fit into its place, and as he paused to
shake the long creamy shavings out of his plane, he looked up to say
apologetically,--
"I'm making an awful litter, ma'am, but I don't see how I can help it.
Pages:
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210