Robert had objected a little to the announcement cards, since they were not in a position to entertain, but they were sent out. Upon the receipt of his, Katherine's father had written a single line: "Any time you may repent of this foolishness, your home is open to you."
The avalanche of gifts had followed the wedding instead of preceding it. The usual miscellany of the very rich had been showered upon them, and Katherine had often thought of the exquisite irony involved in the possession of gold candlesticks, real laces, a Royal Worcester chocolate set, and a genuine Corot, while her shoes were out at the toes and Robert's clothes were sadly frayed.
Still, eight months had passed and she had not repented of her foolishness. He still seemed more desirable than money, and she looked fondly at the Corot which hung in the place of honour.
"I cleaned all the silver to-day," he said, "and put our cut glass punch bowl safely out of Mickey's reach."
She patted his cheek affectionately.
"You're a dear good boy, and an admirable housekeeper."
"Katherine, I can't stand it any longer," he blurted out. "I simply won't stay here and paint while you work your dear fingers to the bone in that confounded old office. It's my business to take care of you, not yours of me, and here you are, working like a slave, while I do the elegant leisure at home. It's simply infamous!"
"Hubby, dear," and Katherine's tone was commanding. "I won't let you abuse yourself like that. In the first place you are working just as hard as I am, with your painting and keeping things cosy here, and accomplishing just as much. And it's only for a little while. As soon as your picture is done, you'll sell it, and I'll resign and do the housekeeping myself. You know how gladly you would do the same for me; why won't you let me do it for you? Don't you love me well enough to let me help you?"
"Katherine! Katherine!" he cried, "don't say that! Don't question my love for you."
"I don't, dear heart, nor should you question mine for you."