Wife Without Kisses

by Violet Winspear

  “A boy who want to roam the seven seas and all the continents and who must not be stopped by a mere mass of bricks and mortar,” Rea whispered.

  After that they were quiet and close—until a voice by the door asked whimsically: “Well, my children, how does your garden grow? Have you pulled out all your weeds?”

  “Hullo, Tab!” Burke smiled without the least trace of embarrassment as he lifted his face from Rea’s hair. “We’ve ejected the lot—every last one.”

  “Good!” Tab came to the fireplace and held a spill to the coals. He lit his pipe, puffing strong eddies of smoke into the room. He smiled at Rea and Burke through the smoke. “By the way,” he said, “I saw Colonel Mallory this afternoon. He and Iris have decided to go abroad. It seems,” Tab’s slightly uneven teeth clenched a moment on the stem of his pipe, then they relaxed and he was smiling as he took the pipe from his mouth, “it seems the Colonel fears that another winter in England riddle him with gout for good and all. They’re going to America. The Colonel has a sister there.”

  “And don’t you mind?” Burke watched Tab. “You had a crush on the girl.”

  “Um, so I did—once.” Tab smiled broadly at Rea, curled down in Burke’s arms like a kitten with every intention of staying forever. “You look very much at home,” he said. “Tell me, was Jack Larchmont among the weeds?”

  “Poor Jack,” Rea murmured. “He got so burned—” “And cleansed by it,” Tab added. “Maybe now he’ll be the son Jim has always wanted. Who knows?” Suddenly Tab set aside his pipe and walked eagerly to the sideboard. “It would be a nice idea if we drank to the future. What do you say?”

  “My future rests with Rea, so I’ll drink to her,” Burke said, and he was watching her. As her mouth curved in involuntary delight at his remark, he bent and kissed her.