“I’m so happy,” she said apologetically. Then she bethought herself, and furtively reached down and tapped the frame of her chair with her knuckles.
“Well, here’s the toast,” said Mr. Palfrey, rising. “To the lady and Lady Washington.” And they all rose and drank it standing.
MY HUSBAND’S BOOK[[7]]
By James Matthew Barrie
[7]. From Two of Them. Copyright, 1893, by the United States Book Co.
Long before I married George I knew that he was dreadfully ambitious. We were not yet engaged when he took me into his confidence about his forthcoming great book, which was to take the form of an inquiry into the Metaphysics of Ethics. “I have not begun it yet,” he always said, “but I shall be at it every night once the winter sets in.” In the daytime George is only a clerk, though a much-valued one, so that he has to give the best hours of his life to a ledger.
“If you only had more time at your disposal,” I used to say, when he told me of the book that was to make his name.
“I don’t complain,” he said, heartily, like the true hero he always is, except when he has to take medicine. “Indeed, you will find that the great books have nearly always been written by busy men. I am firmly of opinion that if a man has original stuff in him it will come out.”
He glowed with enthusiasm while he spoke in this inspiriting strain, and some of his ardor passed into me. When we met we talked of nothing but his future; at least he talked while I listened with clasped hands. It was thus that we became engaged. George was no ordinary lover. He did not waste his time telling me that I was beautiful, or saying “Beloved!” at short intervals. No, when we were alone he gave me his hand to hold, and spoke fervently of the Metaphysics of Ethics.
Our engagement was not of a very long duration, for George coaxed me into marriage thus—“I cannot settle down to my book,” he said, “until we are married.”