"Dear Dimbie," I said, "one of your most engaging qualities is that you so often see things from my point of view. Now some husbands would have forced their wives to know that woman."
He laughed, then a tender expression crept into his face.
"You see, you are not like most wives."
"I am not able to run away from disagreeable people, you mean?"
"No, I did not mean that." A shadow now superseded the tenderness. "I meant that you were so much more reasonable in your wishes than most women."
I blew him a kiss.
"Dimbie, you are prejudiced. What about my selfishness in insisting upon remaining here when you are aching to spend your money upon some large establishment. You are penned in, I know. When I think that if we were away from here you might get some shooting, riding, golf this autumn, I am ashamed of my own selfishness. But—it won't be for long, that comforts me a little. Not for very long now."
"And then you are willing to go?" he said eagerly, kneeling at the side of my couch.
"And then I shall be ready to go," I said gently, hiding my face on his breast.
"Dear sweetheart!" he murmured, kissing my hair.