“It would have been better if she had died twelve years ago. What does she go on living for?”
He smiled sadly as he thought of the relative importance and unimportance of human values, and personages, according to the circles in which they move.
“And this poor human rag was just as important as Homer’s heroine, in that half-civilized land where women are few!... But what would the men who did so many mad things for her sake say now, if they were to see her as I have seen her today?”
* * * * * *
* * *
When he reached the hotel, Watson and Celinda had just returned from their afternoon’s outing.
Two servants were following Celinda, bearing enormous packages, evidently the trophies of the afternoon’s shopping.
Watson looked impatiently at his watch.
“Nearly seven, and we have to dress, and eat something before going to the opera. When women once get into a shop there’s no getting them out of it!”
Celinda soon disposed of her husband’s pretended ill-humor, and together the young couple went into the adjoining room to dress for dinner.
“Are you coming with us?” asked Watson.