bedroom set and a parlor set in upholstered cherry.

On her side she accepted everything unquestionably: the shabby
little ranch house that smelled of wood smoke, and tobacco smoke,
and dogs; the easy scorn of her old friends on her husband's part
that so soon alienated her from them; the drink that she quickly
learned to regard with uneasiness and distrust. It was not that
Jerry ever got really intoxicated, but he got ugly, excitable,
irritable, even though quite in control of his actions and his
senses.

Clara was a good cook, although not as expert as her fond mother's
little substitutions and innocent manipulations during their
engagement had led Gerald to believe. But she loved to please him,
and when flushed and triumphant she put down some especially
tempting dish before him, and felt his arm about her, tears of
actual joy would stand in her bright eyes. They had some happy
days, some happy hours, in the first newness of being together.

Gerald's man, Thomas, was an early cause of annoyance to Clara.
She would not have objected to cooking for a farm "hand"; that was
a matter of course with all good farmers' wives. But Thomas was
more British, in all that makes the British objectionable, than
his master, and Thomas was quite decidedly addicted to drink. He
never thought of wiping a dish, or bringing Clara in a bucket of
water from the well. He ate what she set out upon the kitchen
table for him, three times a day, chatting pleasantly enough of
the farm, the horses, chickens, and vegetable garden, if Clara was
in an amiable mood, but if, busy at the sink, or clearing the
dining-room table, she was inwardly fuming with resentment at his