Big Game - A Story for Girls

"Yes, I understand. It must be hateful for you, dear. I suppose no man

wishes to pay out more money than he need, especially when he has worked

hard to make it, as the pater has done; but if you take him the right

way he is a marvel of goodness.--This year--next year--sometime--

never;--I'm going to be married next year! Just what I had decided

myself... I must begin to pick up bargains at the sales."

Margot rose from her seat, flicking the crumbs off her lap with a fine

disregard of the flower-wreathed carpet, and came over to a seat beside

her sister.

"Now, shall I change briefs, and expatiate on the other side of the

question? ... Why, Edie, every bit of this trouble depends on your

attitude towards it, and on nothing else. You are all well; you are

young; you adore each other; you have done nothing dishonourable; you

have been able to pay your debts--what does the rest matter? Jack has

had a big disappointment. Very well, but what's the use of crying over

spilt milk? Get a fresh jug, and try for cream next time! The children

are too young to suffer, and think it's fine fun to have no nursery, and

live near Edgware Road. If you and Jack could just manage to think the

same, you might turn it all into a picnic and a joke. Jack is strong

and clever and industrious, and you have a rich father; humanly

speaking, you will never want. Take it with a smile, dear! If you will

smile, so will Jack. If you push things to the end, it rests with you,

for he won't fret if he sees you happy. He does love you, Edie! I'm

not sentimental, but I think it must be just the most beautiful thing in

the world to be loved like that. I should like some one to look at me

as he does at you, with his eyes lighting up with that deep, bright

glow. I'd live in an attic with my Jack, and ask for nothing more!"

The elder woman smiled--a smile eloquent of a sadder, maturer wisdom.

She adored her husband, and gloried in the knowledge of his love of

herself, but she knew that attics are not conducive to the continuance

of devotion. Love is a delicate plant, which needs care and nourishment

and discreet sheltering, if it is to remain perennially in bloom. The

smile lingered on her lips, however; she rested her head against the

cushions of her chair and cried gratefully-"Oh, Margot, you do comfort me! You are so nice and human. Do you

really, truly think I am taking things too seriously? Do you think I am

depressing Jack? Wouldn't he think me heartless if I seemed bright and

happy?"