§ ii
It was due to Claudine that she remained in the house until her wedding three weeks later. The distracted woman went from one to the other of them, seeing the breach widen every day. She implored and entreated Andrée, she faced Gilbert with unparalleled firmness; she was able to keep up an outward semblance of dignity in the family. But it was a monstrous thing. Andrée and her father never spoke to each other. The meals were a nightmare, to see them there side by side, so bitterly hostile. She dreaded to speak herself, for fear of hurting or angering one or the other of those inordinately sensitive creatures. Edna was grief-stricken; she had tried to remonstrate in the old friendly fashion with her sister, to make her realize the prodigious unfitness of Mr. Stephens, but she had been rudely rebuffed. Bertie was gravely displeased; he disapproved of Andrée and also of his parents for not preventing such a marriage.
“And these are the last days I’ll ever have Andrée with me!” thought the poor mother. “These bitter, wretched days! This is the end of her girlhood—and what an end! What a memory to take with her!”
The day after Stephens had returned from Europe he had invited her to tea with Andrée, without having made any attempt to see Andrée alone, or even to write to her. He had no need to ask Claudine whether she had succeeded in alienating Andrée from him; her face told him everything, her smile. He had a little table reserved for them in a corner of the tea-room, and they all sat down in silence.
But Claudine, glancing up, saw them looking at each other, and it was horrible to her. She saw in his kindly, honest face that least kindly, least honest of human desires, his mouth had a kind of grimness; he looked so entirely a man.... And Andrée! Was that the way a woman should look, who is about to decide her destiny? Her brilliant eyes were full on him, provocative, equivocal....
They talked, very harmoniously. He told them about his trip in dutiful fashion, because he wanted Claudine to know his position.
“You see,” he said. “I’ve put about everything I own into this English syndicate. It pays me well, but I put the biggest part of my income back into it again. I calculate that inside the next five years I and three pals of mine can pretty well buy the rest out, and then we expect to turn the thing into a co-operative enterprise, with the workers sharing the profits. Then, of course, I won’t get so much as I’m getting now, but I’m getting too much now. But it’ll be a good living—something more than that—for both of us, for the rest of our lives.”
“But I’m going to work too, you know,” said Andrée. “I’m going to study a few years more, and then I’ll give concerts. All over Europe!”
“You won’t have much of a home, will you?” asked Claudine.
“We don’t want one!” said Stephens, cheerfully. “I never could see any reasonable connection between—well, marriage and house-keeping. Because I—love a woman, that doesn’t mean I want her to look after my personal needs. I’d hate to see anyone like Andrée tied up to a house and a lot of dull, petty details. I’m not going to interfere with her life. Never! If I can help, I will, but if I can’t, at least I won’t hinder her.”
“But—” began Claudine, and she was conscious of a slight flush which mortified her. They didn’t mind talking of such things! “A home is supposed—isn’t it?—to be a place for—bringing up children.”
“Sure! But that doesn’t imply that the mother and father have to spend all their time in it. There are people specially qualified to bring up children. Then let ’em do it!”
“That doesn’t seem—” Claudine began, but she stopped. What was the use? Perhaps he was right; if he wasn’t, they would soon find out.
“You’ll have to live somewhere,” she said. “What will you do?”
“A suite in a nice, quiet hotel,” said Andrée, “where I can have my piano.”
So there was nothing to prepare for this young bride, no house-linen to mark, no silver to buy. Even her trousseau she insisted upon buying ready-made. Her mother did sew a few little things for her, but she felt all the time, with every stitch, how superfluous they were. There was nothing required of her; she too was superfluous.