The Promise of Air

ings, much less to fly; he knew the London air was good, but he never noticed that it was air at all; he almost forgot they had ever lived in the air and flown at all. Grocers, butchers, and bakers taught Mrs. Wimble to become very practical, and the halfpenny newspapers stirred her social ambitions for her children. Wimble worked hard and capably, and they made both ends meet. He proved a patient husband and a devoted father, if perhaps a rather vague one. His moment of realisation was over. He accepted the routine of the majority, living methodically, almost automatically, yet always a little absent-mindedly as though much of his intelligence was unconsciously at work elsewhere. Both parents altered; but, whereas his change was on the surface only, his wife's seemed fundamentaland permanent. He was aware that he had altered, she was not aware. They differed radically, for instance, about the prolonged and golden honeymoon in the south. "The money lasted uncommonly well," said Mrs. Wimble when they spoke of it; "it was a pity we didn't keep over a little, wasn't it?" There was a hint of asperity in the droop of her lips. "We should have it now if we had," he answered vaguely but with patience. "But for me it's a memory that will always live." He spoke with longing tenderness. "What?" said Mrs. Wimble, who, like all slow thinkers, liked sentences repeated, thus giving time to find an intelligent reply. "We had a lovely time out there," she admitted wit...