"Nevertheless," said Fred; "you take the flight of Rajah, that dear bird, with wondrous serenity."
And it then struck me that I did not feel so annoyed as I ought. "Ha, Fred," said I, "you don't know what my feelings may be; don't misjudge me because I don't talk. I can assure you, I am very much disturbed;" and I was vexed.
"Perhaps, then"—said Fred—"you'll take a little walk towards the Steyne; and recover yourself? I've some letters to write, my love: and—'twill do you good—I'll join you."
"Certainly"—said I—"of course; if you wish it," and then I wondered why he should wish to get rid of me. It never happened before. Yes—and the thought came again very forcibly upon me—it's plain the honeymoon's nearly out; and then I left the room; and as I left it, didn't I nearly bang the door?
"Why should he wish to get rid of me?" I seemed quite bewildered with this question. Everything seemed to ask it. He could have written his letters without my leaving the house. However, I felt glad that I contained myself; and especially glad that I didn't bang the door.
Well, I ran and put on my bonnet; and then just peeping in at the door to Fred, said, "I'm going;" and in another minute was taking my way towards the Steyne. It was such a beautiful day; the sky so light; and the air so fresh and sweet, that—yes, in a little minute, my bit of temper had all passed away—and I did well scold myself that, for a moment, I had entertained it. I walked down upon the beach. Scarcely a soul was there: and I fell into a sort of dreamy meditation—thinking about that morning-gown and those slippers. "I'll get 'em for Fred, that I will;" I resolved within myself. "Roses shall grow at the fireside; and repose shall be in his arm-chair. That I'm determined:" and as I resolved this with myself, everything about me seemed to grow brighter and more beautiful. And then I wished that we were well at home, and the slippers had, for once and all, been tried and fitted. The gulls flying about reminded me of Rajah: and I did wonder at myself that I could think of his loss—that would have nigh killed me at one time—so calmly. But then, as Mamma said, and as I've since discovered,—it's wonderful what other trifles marriage makes one forget.
There was nobody upon the beach: so I sat down, and began a day-dreaming. How happy we should be at home, and how softly and sweetly all things would go with us! And still, as the waves ran and burst in foam upon the beach, I thought of the slippers.
I hardly knew how long I'd been there, when a little gypsey girl stood at my side, offering a nosegay. I looked and—yes, it was one of the gypsies, at whose tent Fred and I took shelter in the thunderstorm. However, before I could say a word, the little creature dropt the nosegay in my lap; and laughing, ran away.
Such a beautiful bouquet! Had it been a thing of wild or even of common garden flowers—but it was a bouquet of exotics—and how were gypsies to come by such things? Then something whispered to me—"stole them."
I didn't like to throw the thing away; and as I remained meditating, Fred came up. "Pretty flowers, Lotty," said he.