husband's room like this, I added, innocently, "Your shirts have buttons,
have they not?"

"Oh, what a good little housewife I have married! Do not bother yourself
about such trifles, my pet. I will ask your maid to look after my
buttons," said he.

I felt confused; I was afraid of appealing too much of a schoolgirl in
his eyes. He went on working his soap into a lather with his shaving-
brush. I wanted to go away, but I was interested in such a novel fashion
by the sight of my husband, that I had not courage to do so. His neck
was bare--a thick, strong neck, but very white and changing its shape at
every movement--the muscles, you know. It would have been horrible in a
woman, that neck, and yet it did not seem ugly to me. Nor was it
admiration that thus inspired me; it was rather like gluttony. I wanted
to touch it. His hair, cut very short--according to regulation--grew
very low, and between its beginning and the ear there was quite a smooth
white place. The idea at once occurred to me that if ever I became brave
enough, it was there that I should kiss him oftenest; it was strange,
that presentiment, for it is in fact on that little spot that I--

He stopped short. I fancied I understood that he was afraid of appearing
comical in my eyes, with his face smothered in lather; but he was wrong.
I felt myself all in a quiver at being beside a man--the word man is
rather distasteful to me, but I can not find another, for husband would
not express my thoughts--at being beside a man in the making of his
toilette. I should have liked him to go on without troubling himself;
I should have liked to see how he managed to shave himself without
encroaching on his moustache, how he made his parting and brushed his
hair with the two round brushes I saw on the table, what use he made of