My recovery dated from that evening.
CHAPTER XIX
Agatha proved herself the good soul I had represented her to be.
“Certainly, dear,” she said when I came the following morning with my request. “You can have my boudoir all to yourselves.”
“I am grateful,” said I, “and for the first time I forgive you for calling it by that abominable name.”
It was an old quarrel between us. Every lover of language picks out certain words in common use that he hates with an unreasoning ferocity.
“I'll change it's title if you like,” she said meekly.
“If you do, my dear Agatha, my gratitude will be eternal.”
“I remember a certain superior person, when Tom and I were engaged, calling mother's boudoir—the only quiet place in the house—the osculatorium.”