She
_thought_ she coughed with the greatest discretion but to the jarred
nerves of her husband a few hearty bellows or an asthmatic wheeze
would have been preferable to the fidgety, marmoset-like sounds that
came from under a lace handkerchief. Sometimes he would raise his
eyes to speak sharply; but at the sight of the mild gaze that met
his, the perfect belief that she was a soothing presence in this
room of hard thinking and close writing--this superb room with its
unrivalled library that he owed to the use of her wealth, his angry
look would soften and he would return smile for smile.
Linda though a trifle fretful on occasion, especially with servants,
a little petulant and huffy with a sense of her own dignity and
importance as a rich woman, was completely happy in her marriage.
She had never regretted it for one hour, never swerved from the
conviction that she and Michael were a perfect match--he, tall,
stalwart, black-haired and strong; she "petite"--she loved the
French adjective ever since it had been applied to her at
Scarborough by a sycophantic governess--petite--she would repeat,
blonde, plump, or better still "potelee" (the governess had later
suggested, when she came to tea and hoped to be asked to stay)
_potelee_, blue-eyed and pink-cheeked. Dresden china and all the
stale similes applied to a type of little woman of whom the modern
world has grown intolerant.
Pages:
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118