"Why don't you keep him around?" Ida asked me once. "He's so ornamental. I'm not strong for tame cats, but I wouldn't mind Roger on the hearthrug myself."
But up to this time I'd never really wanted anybody on the hearthrug but Bill. If I do say it, I was a perfectly contented wife until the time Carrie Smith made her historic effort to revive the past. "Let sleeping dogs lie" is my motto now—and tame cats too.
Well, Roger called me up, and there was the little thrill in his voice that I used to think he kept for me. I know better now.
"What's this about going out to Carrie Smith's?" he said over the phone.
"That's all," I replied. "You're invited and I'm going."
"O!" said Roger. And waited a moment. Then:
"I was going on to the polo," he said, "but of course—What's wrong with Bill and polo?"
"He's going."
"Oh!" said Roger. "Well, then, I think I'll go to Carrie's. It sounds too good to be true—you, and no scowling husband in the offing!"
"It's—it's rather a long time since you and I had a real talk."