‘There are 1641 of them,’ said Frank, turning them over.
‘I know. I felt that I should be quite old before I had finished. But the last part, you see, is all about wills, and bequests, and homeopathy, and things of that kind. We could do it later. It is the early part that I want to learn now—but it is so hard.’
‘But why do you wish to do it, Maude?’
‘Because I want you to be as happy as Mr. Beeton.’
‘I’ll bet I am.’
‘No, no, you can’t be, Frank. It says somewhere here that the happiness and comfort of the husband depend upon the housekeeping of the wife. Mrs. Beeton must have been the finest housekeeper in the world. Therefore, Mr. Beeton must have been the happiest and most comfortable man. But why should Mr. Beeton be happier and more comfortable than my Frank? From the hour I read that I determined that he shouldn’t be—and he won’t be.’
‘And he isn’t.’
‘Oh, you think so. But then you know nothing about it. You think it right because I do it. But if you were visiting Mrs. Beeton, you would soon see the difference.’
‘What an awkward trick you have of always sitting in a window,’ said Frank, after an interval. ‘I’ll swear that the wise Mrs. Beeton never advocates that—with half a dozen other windows within point-blank range.’
‘Well, then, you shouldn’t do it.’