Love at Second Sight | Page 4

Who could help
enjoying it?
* * * * *
Edith was still thinking about Madame Frabelle when a few minutes
later, Bruce came in.
Bruce also was fair, besides being tall, good-looking and well built.
Known by their friends for some reason as the little Ottleys, these two
were a rather fine-looking pair, and (at a casual glance) admirably
suited to one another. They appeared to be exactly like thousands of
other English married couples of the upper middle class between thirty
and forty; he looked as manly (through being sunburnt from knocking a
little ball over the links) as if he habitually went tiger-shooting; but,

though not without charm, he had much less distinction than his wife.
Most people smiled when Bruce's name was mentioned, and it was
usual for his intimates to clap him on the back and call him a silly ass,
which proves he was not unpopular. On the other hand, Edith was
described as a very pretty woman, or a nice little thing, and by the more
discriminating, jolly clever when you know her, and don't you forget it.
When Bruce told his wife that no-one had ever regretted consulting him
on a difficult, secret, and delicate matter, Edith had said she was quite
sure they hadn't. Perhaps she thought no-one had ever regretted
consulting him on such a subject, simply because no-one had ever tried.
'Oh, please don't move, Edith,' he said, in the tone which means, 'Oh,
please do move.' 'I like to see you comfortable.'
There was something in his manner that made her feel apologetic, and
she changed her position with the feeling of guilt about nothing, and a
tinge of shame for something she hadn't done, easily produced by an air
of self-sacrifice Bruce was apt to show at such moments.
'Your hair's coming down, Edith,' he said kindly, to add to her vague
embarrassment.
As a matter of fact, a curl by the right ear was only about one-tenth of
an inch farther on the cheek than it was intended to be But, by this
observation, he got the advantage of her by giving the impression that
she looked wild, unkempt, and ruffled, though she was, in reality,
exactly as trim and neat as always.
'Well--about the delicate matter you were going to talk over with me,
Bruce?'
'Oh yes. Oh, by the way,' he said, 'before we go into that, I wonder if
you could help me about something? You could do me a really great
service by helping me to find a certain book.'
'Why, of course, Bruce, with pleasure. What is the book?' asked the
amiable wife, looking alert.

Bruce looked at her with pity.
'What is the book? My dear Edith, don't you see I shouldn't have come
to you about it if I knew what the book was.'
'I beg your pardon, Bruce,' said Edith, now feeling thoroughly in the
wrong, and looking round the room. 'But if you can't give me the name
of the book I scarcely see how I can find it.'
'And if I knew its name I shouldn't want your assistance.'
It seemed a deadlock.
Going to the bookcase, Edith said:
'Can't you give me some idea of what it's like?'
'Certainly I can. I've seen it a hundred times in this very room; in fact
it's always here, except when it's wanted.'
Edith went down on her knees in front of the bookcase and
cross-questioned Bruce on the physiognomy of the volume. She asked
whether it was a novel, whether it was blue, whether it belonged to the
library, whether it was Stevenson, whether it was French, or if it was
suitable for the children.
To all of these questions he returned a negative.
'Suitable for the children?' he repeated. 'What a fantastic idea! Do you
think I should take all this trouble to come and request your assistance
and spend hours of valuable time looking for a book that's suitable for
the children?'
'But, Bruce, if you request my assistance without having the slightest
idea of what book it is, how shall I possibly be able to help?'
'Quite so ... quite so. Never mind, Edith, don't trouble. If I say that it's a
pity there isn't more order in the house you won't regard it, I hope, dear,
as a reproach in any way. If there were a place for everything, and

everything in its place--However! Never mind. It's a small matter, and
it can't be helped. I know, Edith dear, you were not brought up to be
strictly orderly. Some people are not. I don't blame you; not in the least.
Still, when Dilly grows up I shall be sorry if--'
'Bruce, it's nothing to do with order. The room is perfectly tidy. It's a
question of