"And can come to no good." She was getting quite angry.

There was a chorus of No Indeeds at her last remark,
and renewed shaking of heads.

"I enjoyed the winter immensely," I persisted when they
were a little quieter; "I sleighed and skated, and then
there were the children, and shelves and shelves full of--"
I was going to say books, but stopped. Reading is an occupation
for men; for women it is reprehensible waste of time.
And how could I talk to them of the happiness I felt when the sun
shone on the snow, or of the deep delight of hear-frost days?

"It is entirely my doing that we have come down here,"
I proceeded, "and my husband only did it to please me."

"Such a good little wife," repeated the patronising potentate,
again patting my hand with an air of understanding all about it,
"really an excellent little wife. But you must not let your husband
have his own way too much, my dear, and take my advice and insist
on his bringing you to town next winter."
And then they fell to talking about their cooks, having settled to their
entire satisfaction that my fate was probably lying in wait for me too,
lurking perhaps at that very moment behind the apparently harmless brass
buttons of the man in the hall with my cloak.

I laughed on the way home, and I laughed again for sheer satisfaction
when we reached the garden and drove between the quiet trees to the pretty
old house; and when I went into the library, with its four windows open
to the moonlight and the scent, and looked round at the familiar bookshelves,