"You dear! And, Tom, listen! Above all things, see they give you plenty of 'Turkish delight.'"
"'Turkish delight'? I'll make a note of it."
"You'll know it easily. Don't let them put you off with cocoanut-paste; it's not the same. The 'delight' is flat and pink and sticky, powdered in sugar—you'll remember? Burnt almonds, chocolate-creams, and dragées are also very good at that shop; but I leave it all to yourself."
"And, Tom, if you should chance, in the course of your travels, to come across a pair of twelve-buttoned palest eau-de-Nil gloves, six-and-a-quarter, and an aigrette, Tom, of the same color, with one of those golden humming-birds posed in the center, you'll remember your poor little sister-in-law wants both articles—they are not to be had in Kelvick—to make her new ball-dress just the sweetest thing out. You'll not forget—twelve-buttoned, six-and-a-quarter, foamy green? Good by, Tom, good-by! We'll be as good as gold while you are away—you'll see!"
He kisses them hurriedly, and then approaches his wife at the window.
"Good-by, dear," he says gently, almost entreatingly, bending over her. "Won't you say a word to me, Addie?"
She turns away with a pettish gesture; then, after a lingering moment, he leaves her.
However, just when he is stepping into the dog cart, she runs out, and seizes him almost viciously by the arm.
"You're coming back? You're coming back?" she asks fiercely. "This is not a trick, a ruse, to get away and make me stay on here—is it—is it? Because—because—it won't do, I tell you; I won't stand it—nothing on earth would make me!"
"My dear child," he answers, in a tone of such genuine amazement that she is disarmed at once and a little ashamed of her impetuosity, "what an idea to take into your head! Fancy a man of my age and standing abandoning my wife, family, home—my beloved chimney-pots—at a moment's notice like this!"