“Oh, I think so, don’t you?” said the poor thing, a little surprised. “They’re just beginning to pick up everything, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” I answered bitterly, “measles and pins, and all sorts of things. It’s wonderful how they do it, isn’t it?”
Some one began to sing just then so we had to be quiet. Everybody hushed, except two old ladies who looked up in surprise at the sudden silence, and I caught the concluding sentence of one of them, “Windermere, did you say? Oh, very nice indeed, for those that like foliage.”
After the song my neighbour left me and went to our hostess. The business of good-byes had begun. “Oh, it isn’t late, Mrs. Deane, you mustn’t think of going.” “I am afraid I must be going, thank you. Mind you come and see us some day soon—yes, any day, just look us up. No, I’ve given up my Thursdays now. I found it cut up the week so, and one day doesn’t suit everybody—no, of course not—and if you’ve another engagement it’s awkward to break it, isn’t it? Well, you won’t forget? That’s right—and bring baby. She’d love to play with Sammy and Edna. We’ve the new nursery now, you know. A great improvement. Oh yes, the other wasn’t half large enough. No, it doesn’t do not to have enough room. You’re well off here, aren’t you? Such a lovely outlook! and the bushes quite cut you from the houses——”
They were both standing all this time with the front door open behind them. Our hostess had rung the bell, and the parlour-maid was waiting in a thorough draught (she had come up in the middle of her tea, I believe, as she looked a little crumby about the apron and not very pleased). “Well, Mrs.—er—, I mustn’t keep you. Don’t come out, please, you’ll take cold. Is this your hall? How well the prints look! You must get your husband to come round and have a look at ours——” Our hostess came back at the end of twenty minutes and went straight to the fire to warm herself. But some one else was ready to go then, and the same ceremony had to be repeated.
The second sister’s husband must be a plucky man the way he clings to life; but, after all, he’s not much in the house. When I married I was told by an authority on provincial etiquette that it was not looked upon with favour if any female guest were found in the house after the man’s hour for coming home. Being fresh from the schoolroom, and not having noticed during my excursions downstairs any arbitrary distinction of sex in the matter of visitors, I found this rule a little difficult to understand. But in a year or two it became not only an excusable breach of hospitality, but an obvious necessity if the breadwinner’s life was to be prolonged. My own second sister’s husband, who is extraordinarily patient and fairly inattentive, would, I am sure, have jibbed if he had ever been asked whether he did not find his work a great strain, his children a great relaxation, his hobby a great expense and his politics a great mistake. Besides, he loathes standing in a draught with his hat off, and not one of the kind of women who call on me would sit on his chair and twiddle his whiskers, which my sister Maud says is what he really likes. So, when anyone asks me whether my second sister’s husband is still alive, I shall tell them that he is, and why. Perhaps it will be a warning to them to take more care of poor Tom and Willie.
CHAPTER V: WHY NOT REST?
If you say you can’t go to bed, the doctor says “Boo! Let somebody else do the work. What are your servants for?” You try to explain that you can’t leave a baby with a cook. He replies that it won’t hurt your husband to have a cold dinner for once. You explain with infinite patience, slowly and as grammatically as possible, that it is not a question of dinner, but that cook doesn’t understand what baby wants. Then the doctor crams on his hat and says that inexperienced people make the best nurses, and will you be in bed, please, in half an hour from now, and don’t get up until he sees you again the day after to-morrow.