"O, come in—we're only powdering our noses," Mrs. Pease called to him. "Say, look here! Mrs. H. thinks hubby might not approve of her going on with us——"
"I didn't mean—" I began.
"I tell her you'll fix it up with him," she interrupted.
"It's fixed—long ago. I told your husband we'd come for him after the show. He'll want a bite to eat anyway, and why not be sociable? He told me to tell you to be a good little sport and wait for him." He laid an arm around my shoulders and Mrs. Pease, still busy in front of the mirror, laughed in mock seriousness.
"O, don't mind me!"
"Did Mr. Hartley—did my husband say he expected me to wait?"
"Sure Mike," broke in Mrs. Pease. "Doc, you go pilot that bunch so they don't butt into my preserves. Saidee is soused, and when Saidee gets soused she gets nasty drunk." The doctor disappeared. "I can't stand for women who don't know their capacity," Mrs. Pease continued, working on her complexion. "You're a wise little gazabo to go slow on the fizz. I watched you to-night, and the way you manipulated the glasses was a scream.... Do you know you made a great hit with the doctor? You're just his style—dark eyes, full bust and not 'higher than his heart.' ... O, I'm not jealous! The Doc and I are on to each other." She winked at me and led the way to the hall.
"On to each other." ... I mulled over the expression as I watched husbands and wives pairing off with and showing their preference for someone else. Everybody seemed to be "on to each other." It was a game of stalemates.
I drove back with the doctor. There was no way out of it without making a scene. "Sid" and the doctor engaged in a brush along the road. The reckless speeding fitted in with my mood. There were moments when I almost wished that something would break and land me with some broken bones, if nothing more. I was smarting under Will's obvious lack of consideration; He knew the atmosphere was not a congenial one, yet he sacrificed me to it without hesitation. I wanted with all my heart to have him popular and sought after; I was willing to play the game—up to a certain point. But when the game entailed a loss of self-respect, of confidence, or of equivocation with one's better instincts, there I drew the line. It ceased to be worth the candle.
I could no longer shut my eyes to the encroachments upon our happiness the very exigencies of his profession demanded. My passionate and childish efforts at blind man's buff were not convincing. The time had come when my husband and I must have a complete understanding. I must make clear to him how I felt. After that, if he were still blind to the dangers which threatened our life—no, I would not dwell on such a contingency. I felt sure Will would see things at their true valuation. For the first time that day I settled back to something approaching a state of composure. One always feels less perturbed after determining upon a course of action. I resolved to see the evening through with as much equanimity as possible. There was something grimly humorous about the situation: if Will really wanted to make a sport of me I was "cutting my eye-teeth" with a vengeance.