Gribble's health took place. Her cheeks flushed and
her eyes sparkled over new curtains and new linoleum. The tiled
hearths, and stained glass in the front door filled her with a deep and
solemn thankfulness. The only thing that disturbed her was the fact
that Mr. Gribble, to avoid wasting money over necessaries, contrived to
spend an unduly large portion on personal luxuries.
"We ought to have some new things for the kitchen," she said one day.
"No money," said Mr. Gribble, laconically.
"And a mat for the bathroom."
Mr. Gribble got up and went out.
She had to go to him for everything. Two hundred a year and not a penny
she could call her own! She consulted her heart, and that faithful
organ responded with a bound that set her nerves quivering. If she
could only screw her courage to the sticking-point the question would be
settled for once and all.
White and trembling she sat at breakfast on the first of November,
waiting for the postman, while the unconscious Mr. Gribble went on with
his meal. The double-knocks down the road came nearer and nearer, and
Mr. Gribble, wiping his mouth, sat upright with an air of alert and
pleased interest.
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