The hours of the morning ticked themselves away. She could not sleep; she could not rest. Over and over her thoughts turned to the incidents of the night, giving her no peace, no surcease. Every little while she would go softly to Martin’s door and silently look in upon him; he lay as she had left him. In spite of the opened windows the room reeked of alcohol.
Towards noon she fell asleep on the couch in the living-room, and the afternoon light was waning when she opened her eyes. The sound of water woke her; Martin was running a bath, and when presently she entered the bedroom, she found him shaving. She was shocked at his appearance; his face was dead white, the eyes bloodshot, and his hand trembled as he held the razor, but it was Martin, restored to life and sanity.
They avoided one another’s glance, and constraint held them silent. She could see that physically he was weak, his nerves still shattered and that his mind was sick with remorse, and fear of her displeasure. He could not guess she wanted only to take him in her arms, to kiss and comfort him, wanted only to be kind and good to him, to restore him to health and strength again, wanted to utter no word of reproach but to give him all the love she could and so ease the pain and shame within herself.
§ 9
Three weeks later, Doc French drove up in front of the bungalow door in his lumbering motor car. It was late in the afternoon. There had been a heavy thunderstorm about two o’clock but now the sun was glittering on all the dripping trees and drenched shrubbery and the air was fragrant with sweet grassy and woodland smells.
There was to be another dance at the Cohasset Beach Yacht Club the following Saturday night. Doc’s sister-in-law and Mrs. Prentiss were coming down for it and would stay with him over the week-end; it happened to be Lou’s birthday and he wanted Martin and Jeannette to help celebrate the event at a small dinner he was arranging at the Cohasset Beach club-house before the dance.
Jeannette thanked him and said that, no, she was sorry but she and Martin had another engagement; Doc was very kind to think of them but it would have to be another time.
When her husband came home on the five-twenty, she told him about it.
“Oh, you bet you,” he agreed. “No more of that kind of stuff for this young fellow. We’re out of our class at that club, Jan.”
“I thought,” suggested Jeannette, “we might go to the other club that night. There’s always a dance there, and it would be our excuse to Doc French. It occurred to me that perhaps after we got to know those people a little better, we might like it.”