"Your wife will expect it. She'll have a right to expect it."
Stafford smiled as he poured out another glass of wine. Grimly he said:
"You don't know me, Hadley, not after all these years, or you wouldn't talk like that. I'm not the man to be bullied or tyrannized or even lectured by a woman. My wife and I will understand each other perfectly. I shall make that quite plain from the outset. It's only right. I give my wife—my name, my fortune. I expect in return something from my wife. I think I've found just the right kind of girl—unspoiled by society notions, sensible on every point—"
"Even on that of letting you have your own way?" laughed Hadley.
"Precisely. She is ideal in every particular. Clever, amiable, good looking, not too strait-laced—she's just the girl I want. Don't you remember," he hiccoughed, "it was you yourself who recommended her—"
"As a secretary," said Hadley dryly.
Once more Stafford emptied his glass. He had already drunk too much, but he still had his wits about him. Laughing boisterously at his friend's sarcasm, he quickly retorted:
"As a secretary—precisely—and I've engaged her—for life."
Again filling his glass, he went rambling on:
"You and the other fellows at the club may chaff me all you choose. I'm going to marry her and that's all there is to it. I'm my own master, do you understand? I have no family—no inquisitive, meddlesome relatives, thank God! If this marriage is going to cost me what friends I have—all right—let them keep away! Such friends are not worth having, anyway. My mind is made up and you know me. Once I make up my mind, nothing can alter it." Determinedly he added: "I'll marry her even if she refuses me—"