“Ah! that is all right, thank you—that will do,” said Stuart as the man set down the box and went away.
“It is my new business suit for winter wear in the mountain farmhouse. What do you think of it, Palma?” he inquired, cutting the twine and unpacking the box and shaking out a suit of brown beaver cloth, consisting of double-breasted coat, vest and pantaloons.
“Oh! I think it is excellent. Such a rich, deep color, and such soft, thick, warm material,” said the young wife appreciatingly.
“Yes, so it is—all that,” added Mrs. Pole, who was setting the tea urn on the table. “But, la! what a blessing it is that women’s clothes grows on ’em, like feathers do on to a bird, so they never has no trouble nor expense to buy any.”
Stuart dropped his suit on the floor and looked at his wife in dismay, noticed her faded, shabby cashmere dress, and became contrite for his thoughtlessness.
Mrs. Pole said:
“Lunch is ready, ma’am,” and hurried out of the room.
“Don’t mind Poley, Cleve, dear. She is full of queer sayings, you know,” said Palma conciliatingly. “Come now, and sit down to luncheon. Here are some of her nice muffins.” And she took her seat at the table and began to pour out the tea.
“I have been an idiot, and a very selfish idiot at that! providing myself with a first-rate suit of clothes, and even displaying them to your admiration, without once remembering that you also would require raiment. I am obliged to the woman for bringing me to my senses,” said Stuart as he took his seat opposite his wife and helped himself to a muffin.
“Nonsense, Cleve! I have got a tongue in my head, and if I had wanted anything would have asked you for it without hesitation,” replied Palma.