"
"The same here," declared the Philosopher. "And--I say--don't fuss
too much. Have a cold lunch--bread and milk, you know, or something
like that."
I smiled, and said that would not be necessary. Nor was it. For five
years after my marriage I had been my own maid-servant--and those were
happy days. My right hand had by no means forgotten her cunning. As for
both the Gay Lady's pretty hands--they were very accomplished in
household arts. And she had put on the blue-and-white gingham.
"I can wipe dishes," offered the Philosopher, as we rose from the table.
"It's a useful art," said the Gay Lady. "In ten minutes we'll be ready
for you."
The Skeptic looked about him. Then he hurried away without saying
anything. Two minutes later I found him making his bed.
"Go away," he commanded me. "It'll be ship-shape, never fear. You
remember I was sent to a military school when I was a youngster."
From below, as I made Azalea's bed, the strains of one of the Liszt
Hungarian Rhapsodies floated up to me. Azalea was playing.
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