Larrie had had a bad illness, a kind of brain fever soon after his last law examination, and really had been ordered to take a long holiday.
‘You are a man of means,’ the doctor had said. ‘Travel about, loaf generally for a year or two, do anything you like, but avoid regular brain work.’
As a first step to a thorough holiday he had married Dot, and as his means, divided, would [p 60] ]not permit of travel, he settled down with an easy mind to ‘loaf.’
He used to ride, and fish, and shoot, walk, read, and work in the garden generally, but there were times when he had fits of superlative laziness and did absolutely nothing but lie in the hammocks and smoke, or wander about after Dot.
At first this state of things had been very delightful and idyllic, but after eighteen months Dot found it very trying, and used to wish sincerely that Larrie went off to business in the morning like other men and stayed away till evening. She felt certain he would appreciate both herself and his home more if he did so, and, seeing he was apparently quite well and strong, there seemed no reason for him not to go.
It was this feeling that had prompted the cutting speech about being tied to her apron, a garment by the way which she never wore on any occasion.
Larrie was bitterly offended.
‘You are tired of me, it has come to that [p 61] ]already,’ he said, and there was such a note of pain in his voice that she had slipped her arm round his neck in her old impetuous way.
‘It was horrid of me,’ she said, ‘of course you have a right to stay at home always if you like. Forgive me, Larrie.’
And he had forgiven her after a time, even kissed her kindly and told her not to mind.