She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. “I cannot but conclude,” he said, “that your errand involved the recital to my wife of some trouble in which you find yourself. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. Ennison,” she exclaimed, “is that really you?” There was no sign of embarrassment in her manner. Stones and brickbats were showered on all sides, and Mr.
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