I cannot for the life of me conceive why I thought this would be a
suitable present for my husband, except that the face of Our Lady was so
young, so sweet, so beautiful, and so exquisitely feminine that it
seemed impossible that any man in the world should not love her. But
however that might be I bought her, and carrying her home in a cab, I
set her on my husband's desk without a word, and then stood by, like the
mother of Moses, to watch the result.
There was no result--at first at all events. My husband was several
hours in the room with my treasure without appearing to be aware of its
presence. But towards evening his two principal friends came to play
bridge with him, and then, from the ambush of my own apartments, I heard
the screechy voice of Mr. Vivian saying:
"Dash it all, Jimmy, you don't say you're going to be a Pape?"
"Don't fret yourself, old fellow," replied my husband. "That's my wife's
little flutter. Dare say the poor fool has had to promise her priest to
make me a 'vert.'"
My next experiment was perhaps equally childish but certainly more
successful.
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