Hunting hurriedly through various drawers and boxes in the blue-and-white room, in search of gloves and fan, Juliet heard her husband come in his turn to her open door.
“Will you have the goodness to look at me?” he requested, in a melancholy voice. Juliet turned, gave him one glance, and broke into a merry peal.
“Oh, Tony!—What’s the matter? Have you been growing stouter, too?”
“It must be,” he said solemnly.
His clawhammer coat was so tight across the shoulders that the strain was evident. He was holding his arms in the exaggerated position of the small boy who wears a last year’s suit. Juliet revolved around her husband’s well built figure with interest.
“It does look tight,” she said. “But have you grown heavier all at once? It can’t be long since you wore that coat before.”
“Don’t believe I have for months. It’s been altogether frock-coats and informals. I haven’t been to an evening affair with ladies for a good while.”
“It doesn’t look as it feels, I’m sure. It’s getting very late—we ought to be off,” and Juliet gathered up her belongings and gave him a long loose coat to hold for her which covered her finery completely.
“Now’s the hour when I regret that I haven’t a carriage for you,” said Anthony, as they descended the stairs. He got into his outer coat reluctantly. “I shall split something around my back before the evening is over,” he prophesied resignedly.
“Never mind. Remember how tight my girdle is. It grows tighter every minute.”