But then as regards finances this pair did not have to worry. There was money on both sides, which among our native bohemians is a rare coincidence. He had inherited some and Mrs. Bugbee had inherited a good deal. So they could gratify a taste for period furniture and practice their small philanthropies and generally make a pleasant thing of living this life without the necessity of stinting.
It was agreed that they had such happy names--names to match their natures. His was Clement and hers was Felicia. It was as if, infants at the baptismal font though they were, they had been christened and at the same time destined for each other. Persons who knew them remarked this. Persons also made a play on their last name. While these twain were buzzing about enjoying themselves, their intimates often called them the Busy Bugbees. But when an idealistic impulse swept them off their feet, as occasionally it did, the first syllable was the one that was accented. It was really a trick name and provided some small entertainment for light-hearted members of the favored circle in which the couple mainly moved. It doesn't take much to amuse some people.
"Just to think!" mused Mrs. Bugbee. "It seems only a week or two ago since we were wondering where we'd go to spend the summer. Time certainly does fly."
"And what a small world it is," amended Mr. Bugbee. "Why, we were sitting right here in this room when that subject first came up and, lo and behold, only five short months afterward we meet again on the very same spot. Where do they get that stuff about a fellow so rarely running into an old friend in New York?"
"You'd better save that cheap wit of yours for somebody who'll appreciate it," said Mrs. Bugbee, but she smiled an indulgent wifely smile as she said it. "Yes, indeed, time does fly! And here winter is almost upon us." She lifted her voice and trilled a quotation: "'And what will poor robin do then, poor thing?'" Mrs. Bugbee loved to sing. She sang rather well, too. About once in so often she thought seriously of taking up grand opera. Something always happened, though. With the Bugbees something always did.
"Don't you be worrying your head about him," said Mr. Bugbee. "Being a wise old bird, the robin will be down in Georgia dragging those long stretchy worms out of the ground. I wish they'd put as good a grade of rubber into elastic garters as they do into those Southern worms. It's what we'll be doing ourselves, poor things, that gives me pause."