"I told you I shouldn't be long," said Alfred jovially, and he
implanted a condescending kiss on her forehead. "How is the
little mother, eh?" he asked, rubbing his hands together in
satisfaction.
"You're all cold," pouted Zoie, edging away, "and you've been
drinking."
"I had to have one or two with the boys," said Alfred, throwing
out his chest and strutting about the room, "but never again.
From now on I cut out all drinks and cigars. This is where I
begin to live my life for our sons."
"How about your life for me?" asked Zoie, as she began to see
long years of boredom stretching before her.
"You and our boys are one and the same, dear," answered Alfred,
coming back to her side.
"You mean you couldn't go on loving ME if it weren't for the
BOYS?" asked Zoie, with anxiety. She was beginning to realise
how completely her hold upon him depended upon her hideous
deception.
"Of course I could, Zoie," answered Alfred, flattered by what he
considered her desire for his complete devotion, "but----"
"But not so MUCH," pouted Zoie.
"Well, of course, dear," admitted Alfred evasively, as he sank
down upon the edge of the bed by her side--
"You needn't say another word," interrupted Zoie, and then with a
shade of genuine repentance, she declared shame-facedly that she
hadn't been "much of a wife" to Alfred.
"Nonsense!" contradicted the proud young father, "you've given me
the ONE thing that I wanted most in the world.
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