Dimbie and I—and Amelia
CHAPTER I
WHICH INTRODUCES DIMBIE
Outside, the world is bathed in sunshine, beautiful, warm, life-giving spring sunshine.
Other worlds than mine may be shivering in a March wind, but my own little corner is simply basking.
The chestnut in the frog-pond field at the bottom of the garden is holding forth eager arms, crowned with little sticky, swelling buds, to the white, warm light. The snowdrops and crocuses have raised their pretty faces for a caress, and a chaffinch perched in the apple tree is, in its customary persistent fashion, endeavouring to outsing a thrush who keeps informing his lady-love that she may be clever enough to lay four speckled eggs, but her voice, well—without wishing to be too personal—would bear about the same relation to his as the croak of those silly frogs in the field would bear to the note of his esteemed friend Mr. Nightingale, who was still wintering in the south.
Yes, there is sunshine out of doors and sunshine in my heart. So much sunshine, that in my exuberance I have only just refrained from embracing Amelia, in spite of her down-at-heel, squeaky shoes, rakish cap, and one-and-three-ha'penny pearl necklace.
You will surmise I have had a fortune left me by my great-uncle. I don't possess a great-uncle. That I have been the recipient of a new Paris hat. Wrong. That someone has said I am the prettiest girl in the county. Bosh! That Peter has ceased to bully mother. That will happen when the millennium arrives.
Oh, foolish conjecturer! You will never guess. It is something far more delightful than any of these things. I will whisper it to you. "Dimbie is coming home this evening." You smile while I ecstatically hug Jumbles. "Dimbie's a dog?" you hazard. "A white, pink-eyed, objectionable Maltese terrier." I chuckle at your being so very wrong. You are not brilliant; in fact, you are stupid.
Dimbie's a husband. My husband. And he's been away for three days at the bedside of his sick Aunt Letitia, who lives in Yorkshire. I think it is most unreasonable for any aunt to live in Yorkshire and be ill when we live in Surrey. It is so far away. Anyhow, Dimbie shall never go away again to Aunt Letitia, sick or well, without taking me with him. For I find I cannot get on at all without him. When I turn a retrospective eye upon the years without Dimbie, it seems to me that I did not know the meaning of the word happiness.