“My darling,” he said, as soon as they were alone, “I fear that our Christmas will not be a very merry one. You know how we always depend on the ball of the Gilt-edged Coterie for our Christmas dinner?”
“Indeed I do,” replied the young wife, with a bright smile: “what beautiful slices of roast beef and magnificent mince-pies you always bring home from that ball! Surely they will give their entertainment on Christmas eve this year as they always have?”
“Yes, but—can you bear to hear it, my own love?”
“Let me know the worst,” said the young wife, bravely.
“Then,” said William, hoarsely, “I will tell you. I am not going to that ball. The city editor is going to take the assignment himself, and I must go to a literary and artistic gathering, where there will be nothing but tea and recitations.”
“Yes,” said Susan, bitterly, “and sandwiches so thin that they can be used to watch the eclipse of the sun. But what have you brought back with you now? I hope it is something nourishing.”
“My darling,” replied William Swallowtail, in faltering tones, “I fear you are doomed to another disappointment. I have done my best to-night, but this is all I could get my hands on;” and with these words he drew from the pockets of his heavy woolen ulster a paper bag filled with wine jelly, a box of marrons glacés, and two pint bottles of champagne.
“Is that all?” said Susan, reproachfully. “The children have had nothing to eat since yesterday morning except pâtés de foie gras, macaroons, and hothouse grapes. All day long they have been crying for corned-beef sandwiches, and I have had none to give them. You told me, William, when we parted in the early evening, that you were going to a house where there would be at least ham, and perhaps bottled beer, and now you return to me with this paltry package of jelly and that very sweet wine. I hope, William”—and a cold, hard look of suspicion crept into her face—“that you have not forgotten your vows and given to another—”
“Susan!” cried William Swallowtail, “how can you speak or even think of such a thing, when you know full well that—”
But Susan withdrew from his embrace, and asked in bitter, cold accents, “Was there ham at that reception or was there not?”