Big Game | Page 9

... Why, Edie, every bit of this trouble depends on your
attitude towards it, and on nothing else. You are all well; you are young;

you adore each other; you have done nothing dishonourable; you have
been able to pay your debts--what does the rest matter? Jack has had a
big disappointment. Very well, but what's the use of crying over spilt
milk? Get a fresh jug, and try for cream next time! The children are too
young to suffer, and think it's fine fun to have no nursery, and live near
Edgware Road. If you and Jack could just manage to think the same,
you might turn it all into a picnic and a joke. Jack is strong and clever
and industrious, and you have a rich father; humanly speaking, you will
never want. Take it with a smile, dear! If you will smile, so will Jack. If
you push things to the end, it rests with you, for he won't fret if he sees
you happy. He does love you, Edie! I'm not sentimental, but I think it
must be just the most beautiful thing in the world to be loved like that. I
should like some one to look at me as he does at you, with his eyes
lighting up with that deep, bright glow. I'd live in an attic with my Jack,
and ask for nothing more!"
The elder woman smiled--a smile eloquent of a sadder, maturer wisdom.
She adored her husband, and gloried in the knowledge of his love of
herself, but she knew that attics are not conducive to the continuance of
devotion. Love is a delicate plant, which needs care and nourishment
and discreet sheltering, if it is to remain perennially in bloom. The
smile lingered on her lips, however; she rested her head against the
cushions of her chair and cried gratefully--
"Oh, Margot, you do comfort me! You are so nice and human. Do you
really, truly think I am taking things too seriously? Do you think I am
depressing Jack? Wouldn't he think me heartless if I seemed bright and
happy?"
"Try it and see! You can decide according to the effect produced, but
first you must have a tonic, to brace you for the effort. I've a new
prescription, and we are going to Edgware Road to get it this very
hour."
"Quinine, I suppose. Esther and the boys can get it at the chemist's, but
really it will do roe no good."
"I'm sure it wouldn't. Mine is a hundred times more powerful."

"Iron? I can't take it. It gives me headaches."
"It isn't iron. Mine won't give you a headache, unless the pins get
twisted. It's a finer specific for low spirits feminine, than any stupid
drugs. A new hat!"
Edith stared, and laughed, and laughed again.
"You silly girl! What nonsense! I don't need a hat."
"That's nonsense if you like! It depresses me to see you going about in
that dowdy thing, and it must be a martyrdom for you to wear it every
day. Come out and buy a straw shape for something and
`eleven-three'," (it's always "eleven-three" in Edgware Road), "and I'll
trim it with some of your scraps. You have such nice scraps. Then we'll
have tea, and you shall walk part of the way home with me, and meet
Jack, and smile at him and look pretty, and watch him perk up to match.
What do you say?"
Edith lifted her eyes with a smile which brought back the youth and
beauty to her face.
"I say, thank you!" she said simply. "You are a regular missionary,
Margot. You spend your life making other people happy."
"Goodness!" cried Margot, aghast. "Do I? How proper it sounds! You
just repeat that to Agnes, and see what she says. You'll hear a different
story, I can tell you!"
CHAPTER FOUR.
MARGOT'S SCHEME.
The sisters repaired to Edgware Road, and after much searching finally
ran to earth a desirable hat for at least the odd farthing less than it
would have cost round the corner in Oxford Street. This saving would
have existed only in imagination to the ordinary customer, who is
presented with a paper of nail-like pins, a rusty bodkin, or a highly-

superfluous button-hook as a substitute for lawful change; but Margot
took a mischievous delight in collecting farthings and paying down the
exact sum in establishments devoted to eleven-threes, to the disgust of
the young ladies who supplied her demands.
The hat was carried home in true Bohemian fashion, encased in a huge
paper bag, and a happy hour ensued, when the contents of the
scrap-box were scattered over the bed, and a dozen different effects
studied in turn. Edith sat on a chair before the glass with the skeleton
frame perched