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Page 62
"Oh, yes, I went to lunch with the Antwerps," said the Picture, "and
they had that Russian woman there who is getting up subscriptions for
the Siberian prisoners. It's rather fine of her, because it exiles her
from Russia. And she is a princess."
"That's nothing," Stuart interrupted; "they're all princesses when you
see them on Broadway."
"I beg your pardon," said the Picture.
"It's of no consequence," said Stuart, apologetically, "it's a comic
song. I forgot you didn't like comic songs. Well--go on."
"Oh, then I went to a tea, and then I stopped in to hear Madame Ruvier
read a paper on the Ethics of Ibsen, and she--"
Stuart's voice had died away gradually, and he caught himself
wondering whether he had told George to lay in a fresh supply of
cigars. "I beg your pardon," he said, briskly, "I was listening, but I
was just wondering whether I had any cigars left. You were saying that
you had been at Madame Ruvier's, and--"
"I am afraid that you were not interested," said the Picture. "Never
mind, it's my fault. Sometimes I think I ought to do things of more
interest, so that I should have something to talk to you about when
you come home."
Stuart wondered at what hour he would come home now that he was
married. As a bachelor he had been in the habit of stopping on his way
up-town from the law-office at the club, or to take tea at the houses
of the different girls he liked. Of course he could not do that now as
a married man. He would instead have to limit his calls to married
women, as all the other married men of his acquaintance did. But at
the moment he could not think of any attractive married women who
would like his dropping in on them in such a familiar manner, and the
other sort did not as yet appeal to him.
He seated himself in front of the coal fire in the library, with the
Picture in a chair close beside him, and as he puffed pleasantly on
his cigar he thought how well this suited him, and how delightful it
was to find content in so simple and continuing a pleasure. He could
almost feel the pressure of his wife's hand as it lay in his own, as
they sat in silent sympathy looking into the friendly glow of the
fire.
There was a long, pleasant pause.
"They're giving Sloane a dinner to-night at the 'Travellers'," Stuart
said, at last, "in honor of his going to Abyssinia."
Stuart pondered for some short time as to what sort of a reply Miss
Delamar's understudy ought to make to this innocent remark. He
recalled the fact that on numerous occasions the original had shown
not only a lack of knowledge of far-away places, but, what was more
trying, a lack of interest as well. For the moment he could not see
her robbed of her pretty environment and tramping through undiscovered
countries at his side. So the Picture's reply, when it came, was
strictly in keeping with several remarks which Miss Delamar herself
had made to him in the past.
"Yes," said the Picture, politely, "and where is Abyssinia--in India,
isn't it?"
"No, not exactly," corrected Stuart, mildly; "you pass it on your way
to India, though, as you go through the Red Sea. Sloane is taking
Winchesters with him and a double express and a 'five fifty.' He wants
to test their penetration. I think myself that the express is the
best, but he says Selous and Chanler think very highly of the
Winchester. I don't know, I never shot a rhinoceros. The time I killed
that elephant," he went on, pointing at two tusks that stood with some
assegais in a corner, "I used an express, and I had to let go with
both barrels. I suppose, though, if I'd needed a third shot, I'd have
wished it was a Winchester. He was charging the smoke, you see, and I
couldn't get away because I'd caught my foot--but I told you about
that, didn't I?" Stuart interrupted himself to ask politely.
"Yes," said the Picture, cheerfully, "I remember it very well; it was
very foolish of you."
Stuart straightened himself with a slightly injured air and avoided
the Picture's eye. He had been stopped midway in what was one of his
favorite stories, and it took a brief space of time for him to recover
himself, and to sink back again into the pleasant lethargy in which he
had been basking.
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