To turn him over
to Charity would be a charming arrangement, perfectly decent, and
no harm to anybody. If only the hateful laws did not forbid the
exchange--dog-on 'em, anyway!
The more Kedzie studied Charity the more suitable she seemed as
a successor. Her heart warmed to her and she forced an opportunity
to unload Jim on Charity immediately after dinner.
There was music for the encouragement of conversation, an
expensively famous prima donna and a group of strings brought
down from the Boston Symphony Orchestra.
The prima donna sang Donna Elvira's ferocious aria full of
indignation at discovering Don Giovanni's Don Juanity.
Charity, noting that Kedzie had flitted straight to Strathdene and
was trying to appease his cold rage, felt an envy of the prima donna,
who was enabled to express her feelings at full lung power with the
fortissimo reinforcement of several powerful musicians. The primeval
woman in Charity longed for just such a howling prerogative, but the
actual Charity was so cravenly well-bred that she dared not even say
to her dearest friend, "Jim, old man, you ought to go over and wring
the neck of that little cat of yours."
Jim sat beaming at Kedzie and Kedzie beamed back while she murmured
sweet everythings to her little Marquess. Jim seemed to imagine that
he had left her in such a pumpkin shell as Mr. Peter P. Pumpkineater
left his wife in, and kept her so very well. But Kedzie was not that
kind of kept or keepable woman.
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