"
"Why, Lee!" she exclaimed, surprised; "I don't know anyone who is so
decided. That's what makes me raging, you're so dogmatic. There, that
is a splendid word. Don't eat that apple, it isn't baked; I can see
from here." She rang. "Varney," Fanny addressed the maid, "take Mr.
Randon's apple out and see if there isn't another better done, please.
I warned you about that; he can't eat them uncooked."
"Let me keep it," he protested; "it might have an excellent effect on
my disposition."
"Don't interfere, Lee," she responded coldly: "yes, Varney. It's really
idiotic of you," she turned to him; "you are not a boy any more, you're
not even a young man, and you can't take liberties with your digestion.
You are quite like Helena with her prayers--if she feels very well
she's apt to forget them, but if she's sick she says them as hard as
possible. I wish she were like Gregory."
"Gregory and you are cut out of the same gold cloth," Lee Randon
pronounced.
"That was lovely of you, Lee." Fanny radiated happiness. "No one could
say anything prettier to his old wife." Dinner was over, and, rising,
she walked around the table and laid a confident arm on his shoulders.
The knife-like tenderness which, principally, he had for her
overwhelmed him; and he held Fanny against him in a silent and
straining embrace. For that reason he was annoyed at himself when,
sitting through an uneventful evening, his simile of the pig,
enormously fat, sleepily contented, in its pen, returned to him.
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