“I think by the window,” said Regina. Her tone was admirably careless—so careless that it almost deceived herself.
“Will you have cream also with your tea?”
“Yes, I think I will have cream. Thank you very much.”
A couple of minutes later Regina was once more alone. Certainly the open window was more comfortable than the empty fireplace with its paper roses. The tea was freshly made, and was good of its kind, the cream was rich, and the muffin was the perfection of a muffin, and Regina sat with the summer wind fanning her troubled brow, and ate and drank her simple fare and was comforted. As she sat she stole a glance at herself in another strip of looking-glass, in which she could see herself by turning her head an inch or two. And as she sat there and her storm-tossed soul was soothed and comforted by her little meal, she began to turn things over in her mind with a less tragic spirit than she had done before. Perhaps if Alfred had been drawn away to other gods it had been her own fault; Alfred was so handsome, so manly, had such a presence, and she had despised all the trifling feminine womanly things. She had given up so much of her time to the regeneration of women that she had let the material part of Regina Whittaker take its own course, and Nature, left to take its own course, is never very attractive. She was too stout. There are people of the plump little partridge order who would look frightful in a nearer approach to their bones, but Regina had gone fat in lumps, and Regina’s eyes had never been aware of the fact until this morning. Too much chin, too much nape of the neck, too much at the top of the arms, too much of that which, even back in Scripture days when coupled with “a proud look,” was ever a subject for derision.
“Never proud to my Alfred,” said she, leaning back in her chair; “but,” and here she crossed her hands just below her waist, “the other is an indisputable fact.”
As she decided the question in her own mind she laid her hand upon the little bell which stood beside her on the table.
“Did I ring?” said she. “Oh, I was not conscious of it. I think I made a mistake in having this kind of meal. I am not accustomed to it, I feel as if I had taken nothing.”
“Try a sandwich, madam,” said the young lady.
“Sandwich? I think I am not equal to sandwich to-day. Something has happened to me; I have had a shock, and you know how we weak women fly to feminine articles of food when we are in trouble.”
“I am sorry you are in trouble, madam.”