It costs Claude money, doubtless; but he has his
excuse,--"Having once seen the tropics, I cannot live without some
love-tokens from their lost paradises; and which is the wiser plan, to
spend money on a horse and brougham, which we don't care to use, and
on scrambling into society at the price of one great stupid party a
year, or to make our little world as pretty as we can, and let those
who wish to see us, take us as they find us?"
In this "nest," as Claude and Sabina call it, sacred to the
everlasting billing and cooing of that sweet little pair of human
love-birds who have built it, was supper set. La Cordifiamma, all the
more beautiful from the languor produced by the excitement of acting,
lay upon a sofa; Claude attended, talking earnestly; Sabina, according
to her custom, was fluttering in and out, and arranging supper with
her own hands; both husband and wife were as busy as bees; and yet any
one accustomed to watch the little ins and outs of married life, could
have seen that neither forgot for a moment that the other was in the
room, but basked and purred, like two blissful cats, each in the
sunshine of the other's presence; and he could have seen, too, that La
Cordifiamma was divining their thoughts, and studying all their little
expressions, perhaps that she might use them on the stage; perhaps,
too, happy in sympathy with their happiness: and yet there was a shade
of sadness on her forehead.
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