her wardrobe fell into confusion and disrepair. She
felt that she must rise to the situation, must teach
herself, must save herself from impending dowdiness and
slovenliness. But her brain seemed to be paralyzed.
She did not know how or where to begin to learn. She
often in secret gave way to the futility of tears.

There were now only a cook and one housemaid and
a man of all work--all three newcomers, for Presbury
insisted--most wisely--that none of the servants of
the luxurious, wasteful days would be useful in the new
circumstances. He was one of those small, orderly men
who have a genius for just such situations as the one
he now proceeded to grapple with and solve. In his
pleasure at managing everything about that house, in
distributing the work among the three servants, in
marketing, and, in inspecting purchases and nosing into
the garbage-barrel, in looking for dust on picture-
frames and table-tops and for neglected weeds in the
garden walks--in this multitude of engrossing delights
he forgot his anger over the trick that had been
played upon him. He still fought with his wife and
denounced her and met insult with insult. But that,
too, was one of his pleasures. Also, he felt that on the
whole he had done well in marrying. He had been lonely
as a bachelor, had had no one to talk with, or to quarrel
with, nothing to do. The marriage was not so expensive,
as his wife had brought him a house--and it such
a one as he had always regarded as the apogee of
elegance. Living was not dear in Hanging Rock, if one