The two faced each other. They were walking through a short stretch of woodland, which lay as yet untouched by the hand of suburban property owners. It was a favourite ground for the diversions of the Robesons, when they had not time to spend in getting farther away. They had been strolling through it now, in the early June evening, discussing a matter relative to the investment of a certain moderate sum of money which had come into Anthony’s hands. It developed that their ideas about it differed radically.
“It’s not safe to do as you propose,” said Juliet.
“To do what you propose would be only one better than tying it up in an old stocking—or putting it away in the coffee pot. It’s essentially a woman’s plan—no man would do it the honour of considering it a moment.”
Juliet flushed brilliantly. Even in Anthony’s cheek the colour rose a little. Their eyes met with a challenge.
“Very well,” said Juliet proudly. “I’ll offer no more woman’s plans. Invest the money as you like. Then, when you’ve lost it——”
Anthony’s eyes flashed. “When I’ve lost it——” he began, and turned away with a gesture of impatience. Then he stopped short. “That isn’t like you,” he said.
Juliet stared at him an instant. Then she shut her lips together and walked on in silence. Anthony shut his lips together also. It was not their habit to indulge in sharp altercation. While both had decided ideas about things, both were also much too well bred to be willing to allow differences of opinion—which must arise as inevitably as two human beings live under the same roof—to degenerate into the deplorable thing commonly referred to as a quarrel.
When they had proceeded a few rods Juliet turned abruptly off from the path and picked up from the ground a slender straight stick, evidently cut and trimmed by some boy and then thrown aside. She looked about her and after some search found another, of similar size, untrimmed. She held out the latter to Anthony. He accepted it with a look of surprise. Then she walked into the path in front of him, stood stiff and straight, her small heels together, and made him the fencer’s salute. “On guard!” she cried.
His lips relaxing, Anthony grasped his stick and fell into position. A moment more and two accomplished fencers were engaged in close combat.
Juliet happened to be wearing a trim linen skirt of short walking length, which impeded her movements as slightly as anything not strictly adapted to the exercise could do. Although her fencing lessons were some years past, the paraphernalia belonging both to herself and Anthony were in the house, and an occasional bout with the masks and foils was a means of exercise and diversion which both thoroughly enjoyed. Although Juliet was no match for the superior skill and endurance of her husband, she was nevertheless no mean antagonist, and her alertness of eye and hand usually gave him sufficient to do to make the encounter a stimulating one.