The Philistines | Page 4

men who
have the power of making their disapproval felt from the simple fact
that they feel it so strongly themselves. The most oppressive of
domestic tyrants are by no means those who vent their ill-nature in
open words. The man who strenuously insists to himself upon his will,
and cherishes in silence his dislike of whatever is contrary to it, is
oftener a harder man to live with than one who is violently outspoken.
Fenton was hardly conscious of the absolute despotism with which he
ruled his home, but his wife was too susceptible to his moods not to
feel keenly the unspoken protest with which he met any infringement
upon his wishes or his pleasure. Tonight he was in good humor, and his
sense of beauty was touched by the loveliness of her appearance.
"Oh, it is no matter," he answered lightly. "How stunning you look.
That topaz," he continued, walking toward her, and laying his finger
upon the single jewel she wore fastened at the edge of the square-cut
corsage of her gown, "is exactly right. It is so deep in color that it gives
the one touch you need. It was uncommonly nice of your Uncle Peter to
give it to you."
"And of you to design a dress to set it off," returned she, smiling with
pleasure. "I am glad you like me in it."
"You are stunning," her husband repeated, kissing her with a faint
shade of patronage in his manner. "Now come on before the dinner is
as cold as a stone. A cold dinner is like a warmed-over love affair; you
accept it from a sense of duty, but there is no enjoyment in it."
Mrs. Fenton smiled, more from pleasure at his evident good nature than
from any especial amusement, and they went together into the pretty
dining-room.
Fenton acknowledged himself fond of the refinements of life, and his
sensitive, sensuous nature lost none of the delights of a well- appointed
home. He lived in a quiet and elegant luxury which would have been
beyond the attainment of most artists, and which indeed not
infrequently taxed his resources to the utmost.

The table at which the pair sat down was laid with exquisite damask
and china, the dinner admirable and well served. The dishes came in
hot, the maid was deft and comely in appearance, and the master of the
house, who always kept watch, in a sort of involuntary self-
consciousness, of all that went on about him, was pleasantly aware that
the most fastidious of his friends could have found nothing amiss in the
appointment or the service of his table. How much the perfect
arrangement of domestic affairs demanded from his wife, Fenton found
it more easy and comfortable not to inquire, but he at least appreciated
the results of her management. He never came to accept the smallest
trifles of life without emotion. His pleasure or annoyance depended
upon minute details, and things which people in general passed without
notice were to him the most important facts of daily life. The
responsibility for the comfort of so highly organized a creature, Edith
had found to be anything but a light burden. Only a wife could have
appreciated the pleasure she had in having the most delicate shades in
her domestic management noted and enjoyed; or the discomfort which
arose from the same source. It was delightful to have her husband
pleased by the smallest pains she took for his comfort; to know that his
eye never failed to discover the little refinements of dress or cookery or
household adornment; but wearing was the burden of understanding,
too, that no flaw was too small to escape his sight. Mrs. Fenton's
friends rallied her upon being a slave to her housekeeping; few of them
were astute enough to understand that, kind as was always his manner
toward her, she was instead the slave of her husband.
The room in which they were dining was one in which the artist took
especial pleasure. He had panelled it with stamped leather, which he
had picked up somewhere in Spain; while the ceiling was covered with
a novel and artistic arrangement of gilded matting. Among Edith's
wedding gifts had been some exquisite jars of Moorish pottery, and
these, with a few pieces of Algerian armor, were the only ornaments
which the artist had admitted to the room. The simplicity and richness
of the whole made an admirable setting for the dinner table, and as the
host when he entertained was willing to take the trouble of overlooking
his wife's arrangements, the Fentons' dinner parties were among the
most picturesquely effective in Boston.
"I have two big pieces of news for you," Mrs. Fenton said, when the

soup had been removed. "I have been to