“I really didn’t know whether I’d find you at home this afternoon or not,” she said. “Your nurse-girl, Beesy, told my cook that this was the anniversary of your wedding. Willie and I always used to go off somewhere for a little treat, but since I’ve been such an invalid I’ve had to stay at home. But he never forgets. What do you think, Mrs. Waring, every Saturday since our marriage, fourteen years ago, he has brought me home a box of flowers! He always says, ‘Here are your roses, Baby’—that’s his pet name for me. I don’t know what I’d do if Willie wasn’t so attentive.”
“Indeed,” said Mrs. Waring.
On her return to the nursery she took occasion to reprove Beesy for gossiping. Beesy was loud in extenuation. In a cottage one is thrown in rather close companionship with one’s nurse-maid.
“Ah, I never said but two words to Ellen; but Mrs. Livermore—there’s nothing she doesn’t find out. And the way she and Mr. Livermore quar’ls!”
“Why, she says he is so devoted to her,” said Mrs. Waring incautiously. “He brings her flowers every week.” She sighed as she thought of the husband who did not bring them once a year.
“Him! Ah, ma’am, Ellen says they fights like cat and dog, and ’twas only a week ago a-Monday the plates was flyin’ that thick in the dinin’-room, Ellen she dassent put her head in at the door to take away the meat. Ellen says ’twould have curdled y’r blood to hear ’em. The neighbors have complained of ’em in the court. He drinks terrible!”
“You must not tell me these things, Beesy,” said Mrs. Waring with dignity. “I do not wish to hear them. Come, Marjorie, sweetest, play pat-a-cake with mamma—this way, baby darling. Oh, Beesy, there’s the bell again!”
This time it was a neighbor whom Mrs. Waring had met before and rather liked, a gentle, faded, sympathetic woman who had admired the children. Mrs. Waring confided some of the household perplexities to her, and they talked of the village markets and compared notes on prices, gradually reaching even more personal ground. Mrs. Waring finally divulged the fact that this was the anniversary of her wedding, and received her guest’s congratulations.
“I had hoped to have celebrated the day in town,” she added impulsively, “but Mr. Waring’s business arrangements have prevented.”
“It must be a real disappointment to you,” commented her visitor feelingly. “I often think how lonely you must be, knowing so few people. A man so seldom realizes what a woman’s life is! He goes off into the busy world every morning, little thinking of all she must endure throughout the day. I often watch you look after your husband when he has left you in the morning; you look so longingly, dear. I said to Mr. Morris just the other day, ‘I do wish Mr. Waring would look back just once at that sweet young wife of his.’ Mr. Morris always turns at the corner and waves his hand to me; perhaps you’ve seen him—dear fellow!”