Mrs. Thomas Beresford changed her position on the sofa and looked sullenly out of the apartment window. You wouldn’t say there was any spectacular view, since all you could see opposite was a small apartment complex. Mrs. Beresford sighed and then yawned. "I wish," she said, "that something would happen." Her husband looked at her reproachfully. "Be careful, Tapens, this desire of yours for any kind of event worries me." Tapens sighed and half-closed her eyes dreamily. "Where, then, Tommy and Tapens got married," she said as if chanting, "and lived happily. And after six years, they were still living well and better. Amazing," she said, "how things are always so different from what you thought they would be." "Very deep thought, Tapens. Not original at all, though. Great poets and even greater theologians have said it before you and, excuse me, they said it better than you." "Six years ago," Tapens continued her monologue, "I would have sworn that with plenty of money to shop with and you as my husband, life would be a wonderful sweet song, like those of the poets you seem to appreciate so much."
"Are you bored with me or with the money?" Tommy asked coldly. "The word 'bored' is not the right one," Tapens said politely. "I have gotten used to my happiness, that's all. Just like someone who never thinks about what a divine gift it is to be able to breathe through their nose, except when they catch a cold and can’t." "Do you want me to neglect you a little?" Tommy asked. "Maybe start going out with other women to some nightclubs or something?" "That would be useless," Tapens said. "The only thing that would happen is that you would find me there with other men. And while I would be absolutely sure that you don’t care about other women at all, you would never be completely sure that I don’t care about other men. Women have these things down to a fine art." "Only men score points for modesty," her husband murmured. "But then what’s wrong with you, Tapens? What is the cause of this intense melancholy?"