tragic. You’re always saying or looking or hinting that I’ve changed. Just because I’ve got to know really congenial people, and go about more, and am frightfully keen on—on everything, you behave as though I’d———” Isabel tossed back her hair and laughed—“killed our love or something. It’s so awfully absurd”—she bit her lip—“and it’s so maddening, William. Even this new house and the servants you grudge me.”
“Isabel!”
“Yes, yes, it’s true in a way,” said Isabel quickly. “You think they are another bad sign. Oh, I know you do. I feel it,” she said softly, “every time you come up the stairs. But we couldn’t have gone on living in that other poky little hole, William. Be practical, at least! Why, there wasn’t enough room for the babies even.”
No, it was true. Every morning when he came back from chambers it was to find the babies with Isabel in the back drawing-room. They were having rides on the leopard skin thrown over the sofa back, or they were playing shops with Isabel’s desk for a counter, or Pad was sitting on the hearthrug rowing away for dear life with a little brass fire-shovel, while Johnny shot at pirates with the tongs. Every evening they each had a pick-a-back up the narrow stairs to their fat old Nanny.
