The Three Stages of Clarinda Thorbald

by William T. Hamilton

In a short while the urge came, and they wished to leave the great house with its lights, its vast rooms, its servants and its gorgeously costumed lackeys. No volition of their own forced them out, but they were compelled to go forth and select the soil in which they should place the foundations, and upon these foundations, build their own lives. As the spirit moved they went from time to time arm in arm, and roamed from one street to another, and it gave them happiness. Together they discussed each department into which they went, its advantages and disadvantages, and with unconcealed joy, they haggled with persons who dealt in these things.

When it became bruited abroad that they were in search of an apartment, agents appeared upon the scene and told them in specious exaggeration, how each place that each offered was superior to that offered by any other agent. The superlative rested in their offerings.

Clarinda and her husband marched from one tiny place to another tiny place, that had tiny rooms with even smaller additions called kitchenettes.

Weeks were spent in this occupation, until eventually, after many times referring back to the judgment of her father and long consultations with her mother, they found a place upon a quiet street. It seemed to them suitable soil in which they could sink their tentacles. They knew that within these four walls they would find happiness, for both of them thought that happiness was a matter of location.

The man as he went with Clarinda listened to her discussions, her objections or her periods of admiration with enthusiasm, and agreed that however small the place might be it made no difference as its very smallness precluded the possibility of their being far from each other. For many nights, before they fled from the big house of their honeymoon, they sat late and discussed the pleasure it would give them, when he should come home after the grind of the day’s work and he and she would make plans for their betterment.

As he and Clarinda talked over these matters, he would rise from his seat beside her and pace the floor in great agitation. Up and down the big room, from one end to the other he paced, and he would draw for her pictures of what they should have, of each piece of furniture and described of what sort it should be, and it gave him pleasure to suggest to her how each piece should be placed and to each suggestion, Clarinda agreed eagerly.

“We shall sit upon the divan in the evenings,” he said, “and you will sit close to me—ever so close. Naturally, we shall have a divan. We could not do without a thing of that sort—a big cushy one. I want it to eat up the room. We’ll place it directly in front of the fireplace. Don’t you think it will be fine in the winter evenings with the fire going lazily up the chimney? Just you and I there together with the big world shut out.”

“And behind the divan, we shall have a tall lamp,” she broke in. “What do you think of a pink shade?”

“Just finishes the picture as I have it in mind. By all means a pink shade,” he replied enthusiastically.

“I do so like clocks. Shall we have a clock? You see I could watch the clock, and then I should know when you were coming and maybe it would not be so hard to wait,” said Clarinda with a plaintive tone in her voice, as if she already felt the sorrow of his absence.