"
"Indeed, and what is that?"
"Beauty that seemed beautiful."
"That's a compliment to us," remarked Mrs. Mayhew, acidly.
"I mean the kind of beauty which does one good and makes a man wish
that he were a man."
"Do you mean an unmarried man?" said his wife with a discordant
laugh.
"Probably your own wishes suggested that speech, madam," replied
the husband, bitterly.
"And pray, where did you find so much beauty?" said Mrs. Mayhew,
ignoring his last remark.
"On a breezy hill-side. It's a kind of beauty, too, that one can
enjoy without paying numberless bills for its enhancement. I refer
to that of the scenery."
"Oh," remarked Mrs. Mayhew, indifferently; "it would have been
more to your credit if you had gone to church instead of tramping
around the fields."
"I think the fields have done more for me than church for you."
"Why so?" was the sharp response.
"They have at least kept me from indulging in one bad habit. I am
sober."
"They do not keep you from making ill-natured remarks," said Mrs.
Mayhew, sailing out of the room fully bedizened for the solemnity
of dinner.
"You say you were 'shown' all this beauty," remarked Ida, who was
giving the finishing touches to her toilet before a large mirror,
and by whom the frequent bickerings of her parents were scarcely
noted.
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