Miss Ley had been persuaded to prolong her stay. She had to go at the end of her week; but Edward, in his high-handed fashion, had ordered the key of the box-room to be given him, and refused to surrender it.
“Oh no,” he said, “I can’t make people come here, but I can prevent them from going away. In this house every one has to do as I tell them; isn’t that so, Bertha?”
“If you say it, Edward,” replied his wife.
Miss Ley to her nephew’s desire, which was the more easy, since the house was comfortable, she had really no pressing engagements, and her mind was set upon making further examination into the married life of her relations. It would have been a weakness, unworthy of her, to maintain her intention for consistence’ sake.
Why for days together were Edward and Bertha the happiest lovers, and then suddenly why did Bertha behave almost towards her husband, while he remained invariably good-tempered and ? The obvious reason was that some little quarrel had arisen, such as, since Adam and Eve, has troubled every married couple in the world; but the obvious reason was that which Miss Ley was least likely to credit. She never saw anything in the way of a disagreement, Bertha to all her husband’s proposals; and with such on the one hand, such good-humour on the other, what on earth could form a bone of ?
Miss Ley had discovered that when the green leaves of life are turning red and golden with approaching autumn, most pleasure can be obtained by a in of the gifts of nature and the resources of . She was satisfied to come in the evenings to the tennis-lawn and sit on a comfortable chair shaded by trees, and protected by a red parasol from the rays of the setting sun. She was not a woman to find in needlework, and brought with her, therefore, a volume of Montaigne, her favourite writer. She read a page and then lifted her sharp eyes to the players. Edward was certainly very handsome—he looked so clean, and it was obvious to the most casual observer that he bathed himself daily: he was one of those men who carry the morning tub stamped on every line of their faces. You felt that Pear’s Soap was as essential to him as his belief in the Conservative Party, Derby Day, and the Depression of Agriculture. As Bertha often said, his energy was superabundant. Notwithstanding his increasing size he was most , and perpetually did unnecessary of strength, such as jumping and over the net, holding chairs with outstretched arm.
“If health and a good are all that is necessary in a husband, Bertha certainly ought to be the most woman alive.”
Miss Ley never believed so in her own theories that she was prevented from laughing at them. She had an mind and saw the two sides of a question clearly enough to find little to choose between them; consequently she was able and willing to argue with equal force from either point of view.
The set was finished, and Bertha threw herself on a chair, panting.
“Find the balls, there’s a dear,” she cried.
Edward went off on the search, and Bertha looked at him with a smile.
“He is such a good-tempered person,” she said to Miss Ley. “Sometimes he makes me feel ashamed.”
“He has all the . Dr. Ramsay, the Glovers, even Mrs. Branderton, have been his praise into my ears.”
“Yes, they all like him. Arthur Branderton is always here, asking his advice about something or other. He’s a dear, good thing.”
“Who? Arthur Branderton?”
“No, of course not—Eddie.”
Bertha took off her hat and stretched herself more comfortably on the long chair. Her hair was somewhat disarranged, and the rich locks wandered about her forehead and on the nape of her neck in a way that would have distracted any poet under seventy. Miss Ley looked at her niece’s fine profile, and wondered again at the , made up of the softest colours in the setting sun. Her eyes now were liquid with love, with the shade of long ; and her full, sensual mouth was half open with a smile.
“Is my hair very untidy?” asked Bertha, Miss Ley’s look and its meaning.
“No, I think it suits you when it is not done too .”
“Edward hates it; he likes me to be .... And of course I don’t care how I look so long as he’s pleased. Don’t you think he’s very good-looking?” Then without waiting for an answer, she asked a second question.
“Do you think me a great fool for being so much in love, Aunt Polly?”
“My dear, it’s surely the proper behaviour with one’s .”
Bertha’s smile became a little sad as she replied—
“Edward seems to think it unusual.” She followed him with her eyes, picking up the balls one by one, hunting among bushes: she was in the mood for confidences that afternoon. “You don’t know how different everything has been since I fell in love. The world is fuller.... It’s the only state worth living in.” Edward advanced with the eight balls on his racket. “Come here and be kissed, Eddie,” she cried.
“Not if I know it,” he replied, laughing. “Bertha’s a perfect terror. She wants me to spend my whole life in kissing her.... Don’t you think it’s , Aunt Polly? My motto is: everything in its place and season.”
“One kiss in the morning,” said Bertha, “one kiss at night, will do to keep your wife quiet; and the rest of the time you can attend to your work and read your paper.”
Again Bertha smiled charmingly, but Miss Ley saw no amusement in her eyes.
“Well, one can have too much of a good thing,” said Edward, balancing his racket on the tip of his nose.
“Even of proverbial philosophy,” remarked Bertha.
A few days later, his guest having definitely announced that she must go, Edward proposed a tennis-party as a parting honour. Miss Ley would gladly have escaped an afternoon of small-talk with the notabilities of Leanham, but Edward was to pay his aunt every attention, and his inner consciousness assured him that at least a small party was necessary to the occasion. They came, Mr. and Miss Glover, the Brandertons, the Hancocks, Mr. Atthill Bacot, the great politician (of the district). But Mr. Atthill Bacot was more than political, he was
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