Mrs Korner Sins Her Mercies | Page 6

you manage it properly, it will be the best day's work you
have ever done. Get out of the house before she wakes. I shall say
nothing to her. Indeed, I shall not have the time; I must catch the ten
o'clock from Paddington. When you come home this evening, you talk
first; that's what you've got to do." And Mr. Korner, in his excitement,
kissed the bosom friend before he knew what he had done.
Mrs. Korner sat waiting for her husband that evening in the
drawing-room. She was dressed as for a journey, and about the corners
of her mouth were lines familiar to Christopher, the sight of which sent
his heart into his boots. Fortunately, he recovered himself in time to
greet her with a smile. It was not the smile he had been rehearsing half
the day, but that it was a smile of any sort astonished the words away
from Mrs. Korner's lips, and gave him the inestimable advantage of
first speech.
"Well," said Mr. Korner cheerily, "and how did you like it?"

For the moment Mrs. Korner feared her husband's new complaint had
already reached the chronic stage, but his still smiling face reassured
her--to that extent at all events.
"When would you like me to 'go it' again? Oh, come," continued Mr.
Korner in response to his wife's bewilderment, "you surely have not
forgotten the talk we had at breakfast-time--the first morning of
Mildred's visit. You hinted how much more attractive I should be for
occasionally 'letting myself go!'"
Mr. Korner, watching intently, perceived that upon Mrs. Korner
recollection was slowly forcing itself.
"I was unable to oblige you before," explained Mr. Korner, "having to
keep my head clear for business, and not knowing what the effect upon
one might be. Yesterday I did my best, and I hope you are pleased with
me. Though, if you could see your way to being content--just for the
present and until I get more used to it--with a similar performance not
oftener than once a fortnight, say, I should be grateful," added Mr.
Korner.
"You mean--" said Mrs. Korner, rising.
"I mean, my dear," said Mr. Korner, "that almost from the day of our
marriage you have made it clear that you regard me as a milksop. You
have got your notion of men from silly books and sillier plays, and your
trouble is that I am not like them. Well, I've shown you that, if you
insist upon it, I can be like them."
"But you weren't," argued Mrs. Korner, "not a bit like them."
"I did my best," repeated Mr. Korner; "we are not all made alike. That
was my drunk."
"I didn't say 'drunk.'"
"But you meant it," interrupted Mr. Korner. "We were talking about
drunken men. The man in the play was drunk. You thought him

amusing."
"He was amusing," persisted Mrs. Korner, now in tears. "I meant that
sort of drunk."
"His wife," Mr. Korner reminded her, "didn't find him amusing. In the
third act she was threatening to return home to her mother, which, if I
may judge from finding you here with all your clothes on, is also the
idea that has occurred to you."
"But you--you were so awful," whimpered Mrs. Korner.
"What did I do?" questioned Mr. Korner.
"You came hammering at the door--"
"Yes, yes, I remember that. I wanted my supper, and you poached me a
couple of eggs. What happened after that?"
The recollection of that crowning indignity lent to her voice the true
note of tragedy.
"You made me say my tables--my nine times!"
Mr. Korner looked at Mrs. Korner, and Mrs. Korner looked at Mr.
Korner, and for a while there was silence.
"Were you--were you really a little bit on," faltered Mrs. Korner, "or
only pretending?"
"Really," confessed Mr. Korner. "For the first time in my life. If you
are content, for the last time also."
"I am sorry," said Mrs. Korner, "I have been very silly. Please forgive
me."
*** End of Project Gutenberg etext of Mrs. Korner Sins Her Mercies
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