“No, no; only I don’t want you to waste your money—and, if we start a bigger stable——”
“Ah, you don’t know what a Crœsus I have become. You needn’t be afraid of ruining me. My poor lonely little wife. Why didn’t you send for Allegra?”
“She wouldn’t have been of any good to me. She is all that is sweet and lovable, and she is your sister; but she wouldn’t have filled your vacant place. I should have only felt lonelier for having to talk every day, and pretend a kind of happiness. Being alone, I could bury myself in a book, and forget my troubles.”
“This soup doesn’t look up to Tabitha’s old form. Do you know that among other delights of this earthly paradise I have been looking forward to Tabitha’s little dinners. I don’t believe there is a chef in Paris who can cook so well as that self-taught genius, who ripened into perfection by a process of gradual evolution, from the early days when my mother discovered that nobody could make arrowroot or cook a mutton cutlet as well as Tabitha. By-the-by, why has not that good soul shown herself? I thought she would have disputed with you for my first kiss.”
While he ran on in this fashion, Isola sat looking down at the table-cloth, pallid no longer, but crimson.
“Tabitha has gone!” she said abruptly.
“Tabitha gone—for a holiday?”
“No, she has left me, altogether.”
“Left you—altogether?” exclaimed Disney, with the tone of a man who could scarcely believe in his own sense of hearing, so astounding was the statement that met his ears. “Tabitha, my mother’s faithful old servant, who was like my own flesh and blood! What in God’s name made her leave you? Did you quarrel with her?”
He asked the question almost sternly. For the first time in his life he was angry with this dear fragile creature, the idol of his heart. He had loved Tabitha as servants are not often loved. He had left his young wife in her charge, desiring no better custodian, full of faith in Tabitha’s ability both to protect and counsel her girlish mistress.