"I should say they had,—but no anarchy in my domestic circle, thank you!"
Conny observed.
"I shouldn't object to anarchy," sighed Margaret, with her whimsical smile.
"Margaret is bored," Isabelle pronounced, "simply awfully bored. She's so bored that I expect some day she will poison herself and the children, merely to find out what comes next."
"No wonder—buried in the snowdrifts out here," Conny agreed. "Isn't there anything you want to do, even something wicked?"
"Yes," Mrs. Pole answered half seriously. "There is one thing I'd like to do before I die."
"Tell us!"
"I'd like to find Somebody—man or woman—who cared for the things I care for—sky and clouds and mountains,—and go away with him anywhere for—a little while, just a little while," she drawled dreamily, resting her elbows on the table.
"Elope! Fie, fie!" Conny laughed.
"My mother's father had a plantation in one of the Windward Islands," Margaret continued. "It must be nice down there—warm and sunny. I'd like to lie out on the beach and forget children and servants and husbands, and stop wondering what life is. Yes, I'd like a vacation—in the Windward Islands, with somebody who understood."
"To wit, a man!" added Conny.