“Figure, indeed!” echoed his wife. “A feather-bed tied around with a string, that’s what she is.”
“But she makes the house very comfortable, and always has a good table,” said Mr. Horner reflectively.
His wife tossed her head and flushed angrily, for she knew quite well that while the Bonifaces spent no more on housekeeping than she did, their meals were always more tempting, more daintily arranged. She was somehow destitute of the gift of devising nice little dinners, and could by no means compass a pretty-looking supper.
“It seems to me, you know,” said James Horner, “that we go on year after year in a dull round of beef and mutton, mutton and beef.”
“Well, really, Mr. H.,” she replied sharply, “if you want me to feed you on game and all the delicacies of the season, you must give me a little more cash, that’s all.”
“I never said that I wanted you to launch out into all the delicacies of the season. Loveday doesn’t go in for anything extravagant; but somehow one wearies of eternal beef and mutton. I wish they’d invent another animal!”
“And till they do, I’ll thank you not to grumble, Mr. H. If there’s one thing that seems to me downright unchristian it is to grumble at things. Why, where’s that idiot of a coachman driving us to? It’s half a mile further that way. He really must leave us; I can’t stand having a servant one can’t depend on. He has no brains at all.”
She threw down the window and shouted a correction to the coachman, but unluckily, in drawing in her head again, the lofty bonnet came violently into contact with the roof of the carriage. “Dear! what a bother!” she exclaimed. “There’s my osprey crushed all to nothing!”
“Well, Cecil would say it was a judgment on you,” said James Horner, smiling. “Didn’t you hear what she was telling us just now? they kill the parent birds by scores and leave the young ones to die of starvation. It’s only in the breeding season that they can get those feathers at all.”
“Pshaw! what do I care for a lot of silly little birds!” said Mrs. Horner, passing her hand tenderly and anxiously over the crushed bonnet. “I shall buy a fresh one on Monday, if it’s only to spite that girl; she’s forever talking up some craze about people or animals being hurt. It’s no affair of mine; my motto is ‘Live and let live’; and don’t be forever ferreting up grievances.”