"Oh! Your grubby old peasants, I suppose," she said.
"Yes. You remember, Etta, what I told you before we were married--about
the people, I mean?"
"Oh, yes!" answered Etta, glancing at the clock and hiding a little yawn
behind her fan.
"I did not tell you all," went on Paul, "partly because it was
inexpedient, partly because I feared it might bore you. I only told you
that I was vaguely interested in the peasants, and thought it would be a
good thing if they could be gradually educated into a greater
self-respect, a greater regard for cleanliness and that sort of thing."
"Yes, dear, I remember," answered Etta, listlessly contemplating her
gloved hands.
"Well, I have not contented myself with thinking this during the last
two or three years. I have tried to put it into practice. Steinmetz and
I have lived at Osterno six months of the year on purpose to organize
matters on the estate. I was deeply implicated in the--Charity League--"
Etta dropped her fan with a clatter into the fender.
"Oh! I hope it is not broken," she gasped, with a singular
breathlessness.
"I do not think so," replied Paul, picking up the fan and returning it
to her. "Why, you look quite white! What does it matter if it is broken?
You have others."
"Yes, but--" Etta paused, opening the fan and examining the sticks so
closely that her face was hidden by the feathers.
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