Читать книгу Reveries of a Bachelor; or, A Book of the Heart онлайн

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Then she, for one, means that her children shan’t go a-begging for clothes—and another pull at the purse. Trust a poor mother to dress her children in finery!

Perhaps she is ugly—not noticeable at first, but growing on her, and (what is worse) growing faster on you. You wonder why you didn’t see that vulgar nose long ago: and that lip—it is very strange, you think, that you ever thought it pretty. And then—to come to breakfast, with her hair looking as it does, and you not so much as daring to say—“Peggy, do brush your hair!” Her foot, too—not very bad when decently chaussée—but now, since she’s married, she does wear such infernal slippers! And yet, for all this, to be prigging up for an hour, when any of my old chums come to dine with me!

“Bless your kind hearts! my dear fellows,” said I, thrusting the tongs into the coals, and speaking out loud, as if my voice could reach from Virginia to Paris—“not married yet!”

Perhaps Peggy is pretty enough—only shrewish.

—No matter for cold coffee; you should have been up before.