Page:Harper's New Monthly Magazine - v109.djvu/464

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426
HARPER'S MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

I can see now, Marjorie, how it comforted her to use the stately Bible words. Death brings a different atmosphere. We even want to lay aside our ordinary speech. I begged her again not to put away his clothes.

"It's easier, dear," she said. "If we don't do it at once, we can't do it at all."

That's true, Marjorie. We must do it now, while the first excitement of our grief is on us, while we are buoyed above the things of life. So then when mother told me that, I helped her. I thought I was doing something for father. Strange! strange!—you weren't born then, and now your turn has come, and you are helping me. Oh yes, yes, dear, you have helped me just by being here. I couldn't let you do things. I couldn't let you touch his clothes—even you. I had to do that myself. You see, I'm a jealous creature, dear. I've been spared real jealousy, because Tom—Well, nobody knows what Tom and I have been to each other. Even you don't know. Not a thistledown of doubt between us. Nothing to regret? My dear child, I believe you are right. There isn't one cloud to remember in all the years we spent together. We fought. Oh yes, we fought like cats and dogs! but we laughed all through it. Regret! Yes, I've just one regret. We had our youth apart. We didn't meet till I was thirty-five and he was thirty-eight. Still, I hadn't made any hideous mistake and married the wrong man. Thank God for that! As for him—well, Marjorie, I hated those years when he didn't know me. I wouldn't hear of them. If he'd looked at a woman—yes, yes, the chances are he did, with a microscope, too; he always had a way of magnifying us—I'd have hunted her out and slain her with my scissors. You don't believe we quarrelled? You don't believe it? Indeed, we did! Why, one winter there were three days when we didn't speak. I never had such fun in all my life. We went to drive together, and confided in the horses. We sat at table, and addressed the crockery. Kiss? Of course we did. Kissing isn't talking, is it? Who spoke first? Well, it's no use pretending, dear; I did. He swore that I would. He prophesied it only that morning, to the sugar-bowl.

"Mark my words, Sugar Bowl," said