“Silly! You must see it. Give orders to a shop to send you ten yards of mauve silk. Open the parcel in your husband's presence. Then—then you totter; you fall down—but mind,” added Olga, “that you fall in a graceful, impressionist attitude. Like this.” And Olga illustrated her meaning in what appeared to me a very foolish posture.
“I think it ridiculous,” I said to her. And she was deeply offended.
“Good-by,” she said, pinning her hat on briskly and spitefully.
“No, no! Don't go away. Do not desert me,” I implored. “Try to suggest something else.”
Olga was mollified. After reflecting a few moments she remarked.
“Have you tried being a ray of sunshine to him?”
I lost patience with her. “What do you mean by a 'ray of sunshine'? You seem to be swayed by stock phrases, such as one reads in novels.”
This time Olga was not offended. She explained that in order to be a ray of sunshine in a man's life, one must appear before him gay, sparkling and radiant at all hours of the day.
“Always dress in the lightest of colors. Put a ribbon in your hair. When you hear his footsteps, run to meet him and throw your arms round his neck. When he goes out, toss a flower to him from the window. When he seems dull or silent, take your guitar and sing to him.”
“You know I don't play the guitar,” I said pettishly.