“Oh, you’re a brute, a brute!”
Here Boadicea stamped a number six shoe furiously on the floor.
“Yes, and I’m glad of it. To woman’s duplicity let us men oppose our brutality. When the worst comes to the worst we can always fall back on the good old system of ‘spanking.’”
“Oh! Oh! You dare not. You are not physically capable.”
“Is that so? You’re a strong woman, Boa; but I still think I could use the flat of a nice broad slipper on you.”
She was speechless with wrath. Then, with another exclamation of “brute,” she marched from the room. Soon after I heard her order the car and go out.
“Yes,” I murmured bitterly to my cigarette, “seems like you’d caught a Tartar this time. Aren’t you sorry you ever married again? How different it was before. Let’s see. What’s on to-night?”
My little book showed me that I was due to dine with an ambassador.
“What a nuisance! I’ve got to dress. I’ve got to stoke my physical machine with food that isn’t suited to it. I’ve got to murmur inanities to some under-dressed female. How I hate it all! There was my old grandfather now. He died leaving a million, but up to his death he lived as simply as the day he began working for wages. Ah! there was a happy man. I remember when he used to come home for supper at night they would bring him two bowls, one full of hot mashed potatoes, the other of sweet, fresh milk. He would eat with a horn spoon, taking it half full of potatoes, then loading up with milk. And how he enjoyed it! What a glorious luxury it would be to sit down to-night to a bowl of potatoes and a bowl of milk!”
I stared drearily round the great room which we had sub-let from the mistress of a Grand Duke. Such lavish luxury of mirror and marble, of silk and satin-wood, furnished by an artist to satisfy an epicure! Sumptuous splendour I suppose you would call it. But oh, what would I not give to be back once more in the garret of the rue Gracieuse! Ay, even there with its calico curtains and its home-made furniture. Or sitting down to a dinner of roast chicken and Veuve Amiot with.... Oh, I can’t bear to mention even her name! The thought of her brings a choke to my throat and a mist to my eyes.... How happy I was then, and I didn’t know it! And how good she was! just a good little girl. I didn’t think half enough of her. What a mistake it’s all been!