“She is so proud of the way she runs her little kingdom here,” he said; “so proud to show you how it is done. You must forgive her. She is only a child, my dearest, and forgets that these household delights of hers may come as shocks to you. I shall not allow you to have these worries that she loves to concern her head about.”
“Then who will have them?” she asked, with her hand on the lapel of his jacket. “You? That would be absurd. If I am your wife, I must keep your house.”
“My dear,” said Jimmie, kissing her, “if we love each other, there will be no possibility of worries. I believe in God in a sort of way, and He has not given you to me to curse and wither your life.”
“You could only bless and sanctify it,” she murmured.
“Not I, dear; but our love.”
Soothed, she raised a smiling face.
“But still, I'll have to keep house. Do you think I would let you go to the butcher's? What would Aline say if you made such a proposal?”
“She would peremptorily forbid him to take my orders,” he replied, laughing.
“I am sure I should,” she said.
It was growing late. She glanced at the wheezy tilted old Dutch clock in the corner, and spoke of departure. She reflected for a moment on the means of home-getting. To her lowered spirits the omnibus loomed like a lumbering torture-chamber. The consolation of a cab seemed cowardice. An inspiration occurred to her. She would walk; perhaps he would accompany her to Bryanston Square. He was enraptured at the suggestion. But could she manage the distance?