The smile upon his wife’s face twisted skeptically. She knew Martin better than he knew himself.
“And don’t you think the Gibbses ’re awful nice folks? They don’t put on any airs but ’re friendly and simple. They’d take us under their wing and ’d be darned nice neighbors.”
Jeannette shut her mouth. It was not the time to shatter his enthusiasm; he was having a good time, imagined these people wonderful; it wouldn’t be kind of her to show him now how vulgar and cheap and horrid they and their friends and their little ridiculous Club were. No,—it would only hurt him, and under the influence of the day and the good time, it would lead to a quarrel,—and she was sick of quarrels. She reminded herself she was out of sorts from the long day of boredom and disappointment; it would be madness to say a word now. The time when she could make him see the Gibbses, their house, their friends, their tiresome pleasures and cheap environment as she saw them would come, and she must bide her time.
“... not so particularly interesting,” Martin was saying, “but a darned good sort, and he’s got a shrewd business head. I think he likes me first-rate, and I was mighty glad to see you and Mrs. Gibbs pulling together. She told me she thought you were great, said all manner of nice things about how swell you looked. She’s not much of a looker, herself, but she certainly has got the right feeling of hospitality. Know what I mean, Jan? She gives you the best she’s got, and makes you feel at home and that she’s glad you’re in her house. I think that’s bully.... And isn’t that kid a corker? Golly, I think he’s slick! You know, I carried him all the way down from the house to the Club and he had his arms round my neck the whole way. He made funny little sounds in my ear, you know, as though he was kind of enjoying himself! ... Gee, he’s a great baby!”
That flat-headed, vacant-faced child? ... Well, Martin was hopeless! He must be crazy; there was no use talking to him!
§ 3
In the morning Jeannette vigorously renewed her resolution not to mar her husband’s pleasure. For the first time, since her marriage, she felt oddly estranged from him. There was a rent somewhere in the veil through which he had hitherto appeared so handsome, so considerate, so wonderfully perfect, and the glimpse she had of him now through the rift was disconcerting and a little shocking. While they were dressing, he smoked a cigarette although he well knew the fumes of it before breakfast made her giddy; at the table he was unnecessarily noisy, laughed too loudly, with his mouth wide open and full of muffin, and after breakfast on the ill-kept lawn, he rolled about with the Gibbs baby, making a buffoon of himself and streaking his white trousers with grass green and dirt. They were to go sailing at ten o’clock,—the Websters were to call for them,—and it was thoughtless of Martin, and indicated all too clearly his utter indifference to her feelings. He looked a sight in his dirtied flannels! ... But she would be sweet! She would be amiable! She would not undo whatever good had been accomplished. At four o’clock they would take the train back to the city; there remained less than seven hours more of this dreadful visit! Martin had completely captivated Mrs. Gibbs; his enthusiasm for the baby had been the last compelling touch; she shrieked at everything he said, thought him “perfectly killing.” Both she and Mr. Gibbs had been cordial to Jeannette. Grimly, the girl determined she would hold herself in leash for the few short hours that remained, would smile and smirk and simper and do whatever they wanted!
But it was the ten-forty train that night which she and Martin were able to catch back to town. The Websters’ yacht had been becalmed, and all day the boat had rocked upon the slow oily swells of the Sound, the sail flapping dismally, the ropes creaking and straining in the blocks. The women had huddled together in the scant shade of the sail, while the men sprawled helplessly in the flagellating sun. Herbie had wailed and whimpered for hours before his mother had been able to quiet him off to sleep. She had kept repeating in a sort of justification for his ill temper: “Why, he wants his bottle; the poor darling wants his bottle; ’course he’s cross, he wants his bottle.”
At four in the afternoon a motor-boat had come within hailing distance and generously offered a tow. Fifteen minutes later they were underway in its wake, when something suddenly went wrong with the motor-boat’s engine, and both vessels slowly heaved from side to side on the oily swells. Mrs. Webster frankly became seasick. The men shouted to one another across the strip of water between the boats, but none of the suggestions of either party brought results. The motor-boat being equipped with oars, it was decided to row for assistance,—a matter of two miles’ steady pull. Martin had wanted to go along and lend a hand, but Jeannette tugged at his arm and sternly forbade him to leave her.
Effective aid finally appeared towards eight o’clock in the evening when the gathering darkness had begun to make their position really perilous, and an hour later the party clambered out on the float in front of the Family Yacht Club, cramped, hungry, but profoundly thankful. By the time Martin and Jeannette had reached the Gibbses’ house and made ready for their return to town, the ten-forty had been the earliest train they could catch back to the city. Their hosts begged them to remain for the night, but Jeannette was inflexible in insisting upon returning home. She feared another hour spent at Cohasset Beach would drive her stark, raving mad.