The White Stocking

"I'm getting up, Teddilinks," said Mrs Whiston, and she sprang out of bed briskly. "What the Hanover's got you?" asked Whiston. "Nothing. Can't I get up?" she replied animatedly. It was about seven o'clock, scarcely light yet in the cold bedroom. Whiston lay still and looked at his wife. She was a pretty little thing, with her fleecy, short black hair all tousled ... He watched her as she dressed quickly, flicking her small, delightful limbs, throwing her clothes about her. Her slovenliness...