It was a strange condition of things, the honeymoon being over, and the bridesmaids gone home, when I found myself sitting down in my own small house with Dora; quite thrown out of employment, as I may say, in respect of the delicious old occupation of ****** love.
It seemed such an extraordinary thing to have Dora always there.
It was so unaccountable not to be obliged to go out to see her, not to have any occasion to be tormenting myself about her, not to have to write to her, not to be scheming and devising opportunities of being alone with her. Sometimes of an evening, when I looked up from my writing, and saw her seated opposite, I would lean back in my chair, and think how queer it was that there we were, alone together as a matter of course - nobody's business any more - all the romance of our engagement put away upon a shelf, to rust - no one to please but one another - one another to please, for life.
When there was a debate, and I was kept out very late, it seemed so strange to me, as I was walking home, to think that Dora was at home! It was such a wonderful thing, at first, to have her coming softly down to talk to me as I ate my supper. It was such a stupendous thing to know for certain that she put her hair in papers. It was altogether such an astonishing event to see her do it!
I doubt whether two young birds could have known less about keeping house, than I and my pretty Dora did. We had a servant, of course.
She kept house for us. I have still a latent belief that she must have been Mrs. Crupp's daughter in disguise, we had such an awful time of it with Mary Anne.
Her name was Paragon. Her nature was represented to us, when we engaged her, as being feebly expressed in her name. She had a written character, as large as a proclamation; and, according to this document, could do everything of a domestic nature that ever I heard of, and a great many things that I never did hear of. She was a woman in the prime of life; of a severe countenance; and subject (particularly in the arms) to a sort of perpetual measles or fiery rash. She had a cousin in the Life-Guards, with such long legs that he looked like the afternoon shadow of somebody else.
His shell-jacket was as much too little for him as he was too big for the premises. He made the cottage smaller than it need have been, by being so very much out of proportion to it. Besides which, the walls were not thick, and, whenever he passed the evening at our house, we always knew of it by hearing one continual growl in the kitchen.
Our treasure was warranted sober and honest. I am therefore willing to believe that she was in a fit when we found her under the boiler; and that the deficient tea-spoons were attributable to the dustman.
But she preyed upon our minds dreadfully. We felt our inexperience, and were unable to help ourselves. We should have been at her mercy, if she had had any; but she was a remorseless woman, and had none. She was the cause of our first little quarrel.
'My dearest life,' I said one day to Dora, 'do you think Mary Anne has any idea of time?'
'Why, Doady?' inquired Dora, looking up, innocently, from her drawing.
'My love, because it's five, and we were to have dined at four.'
Dora glanced wistfully at the clock, and hinted that she thought it was too fast.
'On the contrary, my love,' said I, referring to my watch, 'it's a few minutes too slow.'
My little wife came and sat upon my knee, to coax me to be quiet, and drew a line with her pencil down the middle of my nose; but Icouldn't dine off that, though it was very agreeable.
'Don't you think, my dear,' said I, 'it would be better for you to remonstrate with Mary Anne?'
'Oh no, please! I couldn't, Doady!' said Dora.
'Why not, my love?' I gently asked.
'Oh, because I am such a little goose,' said Dora, 'and she knows I am!'
I thought this sentiment so incompatible with the establishment of any system of check on Mary Anne, that I frowned a little.
'Oh, what ugly wrinkles in my bad boy's forehead!' said Dora, and still being on my knee, she traced them with her pencil; putting it to her rosy lips to make it mark blacker, and working at my forehead with a quaint little mockery of being industrious, that quite delighted me in spite of myself.
'There's a good child,' said Dora, 'it makes its face so much prettier to laugh.'
'But, my love,' said I.
'No, no! please!' cried Dora, with a kiss, 'don't be a naughty Blue Beard! Don't be serious!'
'my precious wife,' said I, 'we must be serious sometimes. Come!
Sit down on this chair, close beside me! Give me the pencil!
There! Now let us talk sensibly. You know, dear'; what a little hand it was to hold, and what a tiny wedding-ring it was to see!
'You know, my love, it is not exactly comfortable to have to go out without one's dinner. Now, is it?'
'N-n-no!' replied Dora, faintly.
'My love, how you tremble!'
'Because I KNOW you're going to scold me,' exclaimed Dora, in a piteous voice.
'My sweet, I am only going to reason.'
'Oh, but reasoning is worse than scolding!' exclaimed Dora, in despair. 'I didn't marry to be reasoned with. If you meant to reason with such a poor little thing as I am, you ought to have told me so, you cruel boy!'
I tried to pacify Dora, but she turned away her face, and shook her curls from side to side, and said, 'You cruel, cruel boy!' so many times, that I really did not exactly know what to do: so I took a few turns up and down the room in my uncertainty, and came back again.
'Dora, my darling!'
'No, I am not your darling. Because you must be sorry that you married me, or else you wouldn't reason with me!' returned Dora.
I felt so injured by the inconsequential nature of this charge, that it gave me courage to be grave.
