“Don’t say that,” she suggested. “No, you belong to me now.”
“I wish I did. You are like the angel with the drawn sword at the gate of the Garden of Eden. He was not placed there until after Eve had eaten the apple. I suppose I have had a bite of my apple.”
“You are anticipating. You are borrowing trouble. Wash your hands and come to lunch.”
He looked into the next room. It was yellow and white, and dainty and fresh. A row of his boots would disfigure it. His bachelor quarters seemed so dull in comparison. The faint smell of violets came from her clothes, he used her hair brush, and looked at her shoes lingeringly.
They ate their lunch and smoked afterwards.
“This is lovely!” he said, with a sigh.
“And how unlike matrimony. The average husband likes to use his authority at first, and says he will have the pictures altered, and he cannot sleep in a bed which runs from east to west, or from north to south or—”
He looked at her rather sadly.
“You are not an average wife, and I am little more than a bachelor even now.”
“You are a very nice one.”