We had not money enough to go out of town for change of air. Moreover, with Ronald's returning health came the urgent need of finding work to do; and where was he to find work if it was not to be found in London? When we were first married I had been quite sanguine about his chance of getting employment. He could do so many things, that it seemed impossible for him to fail. But later on, I discovered that the man who can do many things is precisely the man who does fail.
He could paint a tambourine beautifully, and hang it up on a wall with good effect; and he had a perfect genius for arranging old china, and giving artistic touches to a room. And there was the guitar-playing, and the singing, to say nothing of a graceful manner and a way of gliding naturally into the best society. Useful gifts these, were they not? Gifts which ought, of course, to have ensured their possessor a good income, and complete immunity from all the petty anxieties of life!
But, alas! They did not. Days lengthened into weeks; we left off fires, and were glad to open the windows and let the London air enter our little room. All the best people were in town; streets and squares were gay with carriages; women looked charming in their freshly-donned costumes; but I, Louie Hepburne, crept about in my shabby old gown, carrying a heavy heart, and perpetually doing long addition sums. Oh, those weekly bills which my good nurse never presented! Would they ever be paid?
It was about this time that Ronald began to miss my old cheerfulness. Somehow there were not so many things to laugh at as there used to be. The comic side of life seemed to be hidden from my gaze. Mental arithmetic does not foster one's sense of humour, and the fun was gradually dying out of my nature. I suppose I was a dull companion; and even devotedness cannot quite make up for dulness. One evening, when we were sitting together in our small parlour, he looked at me and sighed.
"I don't think I acted quite fairly in persuading you to marry me, Louie," he said, after a brief pause.
"Are you going in for vain regret, and that sort of thing?" I asked, feeling my checks flush.
"No; but I ought to have waited till I was better off, or—"
"Or what?" I cried, hotly. "I hate an unfinished sentence. Shall I finish it for you? 'You ought to have waited till you were better off, or till you had met a richer woman!'"
It was the most foolish speech that I could possibly have made. But is there ever a loving woman who does not at certain times say the most disastrous things? The more she loves, the more likely she is to speak unwisely. It was just one of those moments when a man sees that he has the advantage, and Ronald was as quick-sighted as most men. Moreover he, too, was by no means in his best mood that night, although he answered with a calmness that nearly maddened me.
"I met a richer woman long before I ever saw you," he said, looking at me steadily to note the effect of his words.