"Arrested?" she said, "Well, I should think he'd better be,
If what you say about clothing is true.... Well, then--what's he
arrested for?... Oh, kidnaping! Well, if I'm any judge, they
ought to arrest the Archibald girl for kidnaping _him_. No,
don't bother me with it tonight. I'll try to read myself to
sleep."
So this was Marriage! Did she flee to her unjustly acused
husband's side and comfort him? Not she. She went to bed.
At daylight, being about smotherd, I opened the closet door
and drew a breath of fresh air. Also I looked at her, and she
was asleep, with her hair in patent wavers. Ye gods!
The wife of Reginald Beecher thus to distort her looks at
night! I could not bare it.
I averted my eyes, and on my tiptoes made for the Window.
My sufferings were over. In a short time I had slid down
and was making my way through the dewey morn toward my home.
Before the sun was up, or more than starting, I had climbed to
my casement by means of a wire trellis, and put on my _robe de
nuit_. But before I settled to sleep I went to the pantrey and
there satisfied the pangs of nothing since Breakfast the day
before.
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