Jaffery | Page 9

last visit to the Megatherium--Thackeray, I
explained--a Royal Academician, with whom I had a slight
acquaintance, reading desolate "The Hibbert Journal" in the
smoking-room, embraced me as fondly as the austerity of the place
permitted and related a non-drawing-room story which was current at
my preparatory school--and that in the library I ran into an equally
desolate, though even less familiar Archdeacon, who seized me, like
the Ancient Mariner, and never let me go until he had impressed upon
my mind the name and address of the only man in London who could
cut clerical gaiters. But the simple child of sugar would have his way.
There was but one Valhalla in London, and it was built by Decimus
Burton.
After that we joined the ladies for an unimportant half hour or so, and
then Barbara and I took our leave. As we were motoring home--we live
some thirty miles out of London--we discussed the dinner party,
according to the way of married folks, home-bound after a feast, and I

mentioned the trivial incident of Adrian and the broken glass. Why
should his face have been so haggard when he had everything to make
him happy?
"He was thinking of Mr. Jornicroft's previous insulting behaviour."
"How do you know?"
"He told me," said Barbara.
"I never knew Adrian to be seriously vindictive," said I.
"It strikes me, my dear," replied Barbara, taking my hand, "that you are
an old ignoramus."
And this from a woman who actively glories in not knowing how many
"r's" there are in "harassed."
She nestled up to me. "We're not going abroad in August, are we?"
"What?" I cried, "leave the English country during the only part of the
year that is not 'deformed with dripping rains or withered by a frost'?
Certainly not."
"But we did last year, and the year before."
"Pure accident. The year before, Susan was recovering from the
measles and you had some pretty frocks which you thought would look
lovely at Dinard. And last year you also had some frocks and insisted
that Houlgate was the only place where Susan could avoid being
stricken down by scarlet-fever."
"Anyhow," said my wife, "we're not going away this year, for I've fixed
up with Doria and Adrian to spend August at Northlands."
"Why didn't you tell me so at once? Why did you ask me whether we
were going away?"
"Because I knew we weren't," she answered.

In putting two questions at the same time, I blundered. The first was a
poser and might have elicited some interesting revelation of feminine
mental process. In forlorn hope I repeated it.
"Why, I've told you, stupid," said Barbara. "You've no objection to
their coming, have you?"
"Good Lord, no. I'm delighted."
"From the way you've argued, any one would have thought you didn't
want them."
Outraged by the illogic, I gasped; but she broke into a laugh.
"You silly old Hilary," she said. "Don't you see that Doria must get her
trousseau together and Adrian must find a house or a flat, that has to be
decorated and furnished, and the poor child hasn't a mother or any
sensible woman in the world to look after her but me?"
"I see," said I, "that you intend having the time of your life."
* * * * *
My prevision proved correct. In August came the engaged couple and
every day Barbara took them up to town and whirled them about from
house-agent to house-agent until she found a flat to suit them, and then
from emporium to emporium until she found furniture to suit the flat,
and from raiment-vendor to raiment-vendor until she equipped Doria to
suit the furniture. She used to return almost speechless with exhaustion;
but pantingly and with the glaze of victory in her eyes, she fought all
her battles o'er again and told of bargains won. In the meantime had it
not been for Susan, I should have lived in the solitude of an anchorite.
We spent much time in the garden which we (she less conscious of
irony than I) called our desert island. I was Robinson Crusoe and she
was Man Friday, and on the whole we were quite happy; perhaps I
should have been happier in a temperature of 80° in the shade if I had
not been forced to wear the Polar bear rug from the drawing-room in
representation of Crusoe's goatskins. I did suggest that I should be

Robinson Crusoe's brother, who wore ordinary flannels, and that she
should be Woman Wednesday. But Susan saw through the subterfuge
and that game didn't work. One afternoon, however, Barbara, returning
earlier than usual, caught us at it and expressing horror and indignation
at the uses to which the bearskin was put, metaphorically whipped me
and sent me to bed