[CHAPTER XI.]
THE CHOIR THREATEN TO STRIKE.
It had not taken Rachel long to discover that she had married an untidy man. Being very tidy and dainty in her ways herself, this discovery was rather a shock to her. But she came to the conclusion that Luke's mind was so full of the things that really mattered, that the less important things were nothing to him though they meant a great deal to her.
Remembering her promise, the morning after she had prepared his study for him, she had awakened earlier than usual and had gone there the first thing. She had promised him that she would be responsible for keeping it in order and that Polly should have nothing to do with it. On opening the door she stood still and laughed at what she saw.
It looked to her in terrible disorder! Though he tried to convince her afterwards that there was such a thing as a tidy untidyness. He knew just where everything was, he said, and could lay his hand upon it.
But to Rachel's eyes disorder reigned.
Because the waste paper basket was not just at hand, he had thrown on to the floor his many torn up letters. Books were piled on the ground. His table was strewn with papers: there was scarcely a chair without some volume of reference on its seat.
Rachel picked up all the torn letters putting them into the waste paper basket, arranged the books, with a certain amount of trepidation, on the shelves, and finally lifted up every letter and paper from the table to dust them, laying them back in exactly the same position as she found them. She opened the window carefully, anxious lest some of the papers that strewed the desk should take to themselves wings and fly away.
It amused her the first morning, she felt that Luke had indeed needed a study. But the care of the room added to her work and took time as she had to be so careful not to disturb anything. And in her heart of hearts she wished that Luke was tidy!
Another thing that troubled her was the fact that on the muddiest days Luke would run upstairs without wiping his boots. He was always in such a desperate hurry to get through the numberless letters that awaited his attention on his study writing table that he would hurriedly hang up his hat in the hall, and then spring upstairs two steps at a time and shut himself in. The necessity of rubbing his boots never occurred to him. His mind was full of important matters, things that had just taken place, and letters that had to be posted. Then to brush his coat and hat before going out never crossed his mind. He was always so hurried, and Rachel supposed that he expected to find everything that was necessary to be done, done for him.