Read Online Love Lies Dreaming by C S Forester - Free Book Online

yes, and thirsty.
    (“All right, pig,” said Constance, “you needn’t hint like that. I’ll put the kettle on; the tea’s all laid ready on the tray.”)
    We were making a strict Socialist state of ourselves, and one day, after the women had been whispering to themselves a good deal, Opera Top turned to me.
    â€œDon’t you think, dear Mr. Trevor,” she cooed, “seeing that it is share and share alike, it would be better for every one concerned if we were to share your—er—wardrobe between us?”
    â€œMy
what?
” I yelled.
    â€œYour wardrobe. Some of us are hardly sufficiently clad, and
so
uncomfortable in consequence.” And she gave a little wriggle and clapped her hands about the upper portion of her where the Opera Top came to an untimely end.
    One of the Chemise Vests butted in here.
    â€œI don’t think, dear Opera Top,” she fluted sweetly, “that you have
quite
as much to complain about as some others of us.”
    Very delicately she adjusted the edge of her vest. At the same time I have never seen such lust in the eyes of any one as in hers as she gazed at my trousers.
    â€œWell, I’m damned,” said I.
    There was quite a flutter in the dovecote at this awful word. Opera Top covered her face with her hands for a second, but she soon returned to the charge.
    â€œI’m sure you will appreciate, dear Mr. Trevor,” shesaid, “that it is not mere selfishness that actuates us, although the nights
are
cold. It is a delicate matter, but surely you can understand how uncomfortable we all feel at being so lightly clad in the presence of a gentleman.”
    â€œOh, give her your trousers if she wants them so much,” said Constance. “Anything for peace, dear.”
    â€œBut—but—” I said, “it is a delicate matter, but surely these ladies would be just as uncomfortable if I were to be without my trousers.”
    Envelope Chemise chipped in here.
    â€œPerhaps,” said she, “perhaps your wife, dear Mrs. Trevor, would have no objection to—er—sewing a button and button-hole on the tails of your—er—shirt. It is a very convenient arrangement, I’m sure.” She uttered these last words in a rush, blushing scarlet.
    Constance shrieked with hysterical laughter.
    (“I’m sure I never shriek,” said Constance.
    â€œYou did on this occasion,” said I.)
    That called upon her the severest attention of the eldest Miss Reducing Corset.
    â€œI think you, too, should make some small sacrifice, dear Mrs. Trevor,” she said. “After all, Mr. Trevor
is
your husband, and I understand that—that it doesn’t matter so much with husbands.”
    It was Constance this time who said she was damned. But the eldest Miss Reducing Corset’s suggestion met with evident approval from the others. They cooed and they fluted and they fluttered their long white hands and they raised such a to-do (always a perfectly lady-like to-do, of course) that in the end our hearts melted.
    Opera Top gratefully buried the upper half of her in my coat, and the senior Chemise Vest drew on my trousers with a sigh of relief. The eldest Miss Reducing Corset appropriated (with freezing politeness, and beating all other candidates by a neck) Constance’s frock. Bath robe wailed when she saw the plunder distributed in this fashion with no share for her.
    â€œIsn’t there anything for me?” she pleaded.
    â€œOf course not,” said Opera Top, almost snappishly, “you’re the best off of all of us, you and one or two others.”
    This last she said with a glance at the Chemises and Knickers—and she still gazed avariciously at Constance’s diaphanous but adequate cami-knickers.
    â€œBut,” wailed Bath Robe, “I simply daren’t move.”
    The eldest Miss Reducing Corset regarded her with distinct approval.
    â€œMy dear child,”