some wind that was needed to blow upon it had shifted and gone elsewhere.
There were no children—which was a greater sorrow to Eric than to the empty-handed Louise.
"A figurehead of a wife," Judy called her, and it was true enough.
They lived in a charming house in Brook Street, which Louise complained wasn't big enough to entertain in, and was too big to say you couldn't entertain in. She had left the furnishing of it to Eric, admitting her own deficiency in the matter of taste. She bitterly resented his unerring instinct for the best thing and the right thing; a gift, she chose to maintain, it was unmanly to possess.
"I didn't know I was marrying a decorator," she was fond of saying.
