It's a dear, and Lyman Wilde simply raved over it when he painted
me in it (not that he can really paint, but he has a TOUCH with
everything he does). I noticed that everybody seemed solemn and queer,
but I never dreamed that I was the cause until my mother-in-law came to
me afterward, blushing, and told me that Mr. Talbert never allowed any
of the family to wear Mother Hubbards around the house. MOTHER
HUBBARDS! I could have moaned. Well, when I go around there now I never
care what I have on, and I never pretend to talk at meals; I just sit
and try and make my mind a blank until it's over. You HAVE to make your
mind a blank if you don't want to be driven raving crazy by that
dining-room. It has a hideous black-walnut sideboard, an "oil-painting"
of pale, bloated fruit on one side, and pale, bloated fish on the
other, and a strip of black-and-white marbled oil-cloth below.
I feel sometimes as if I could hardly live until my father-in-law rises
from his chair and kisses his wife good-bye before going off to the
factory. She always blushes so prettily when he kisses her--as if it
were for the first time. Then everybody looks pained when Peter and I
just nod at each other as he goes out--I cannot be affectionate to him
before them--and then, thank Heaven! the rest of us escape from the
dining-room.
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