A great weariness came over Jeannette. It was disgusting! What had he wanted to get married again for? Pugh! It was most disappointing.... Another woman! ... She had never imagined anything like this.... Was he living with her without a ceremony? Probably. She must be a cheap sort of creature.... But it didn’t make any difference whether she was legally his wife or not; it was the same thing. The fact remained he had taken up with someone else. No doubt she was known as “Mrs. Devlin.”
Jeannette went back to the hotel and upstairs to her room, laid aside her beautiful fur jacket, her hat, took off her dress, put on her kimona. Her mind, like a squirrel in a cage, went around and around over the same ground. How could he be married? Why, they had never been divorced!
The prospect of the evening suddenly palled upon her. Even though he had married, a dinner and chat alone with Martin would have had some piquancy; it would have been quite exciting and amusing to have recalled old friends, old memories. But there would be no spontaneity in their talk with another woman beside them, a bored and critical listener! It would be dreadful! An intolerable situation! ... She thought of a hurried return to New York, a telephone to Martin that she had been unexpectedly called home. Yet that seemed undignified; he would be sure to guess her reason, or if he did not, “Ruthie” could be depended upon to enlighten him. She shook her head in distaste. She was committed to this unpalatable program, now; she would be obliged to see it through,—but oh, how she was going to hate it! How she was going to despise every moment of it!
She considered the other woman, trying to imagine what she would be like.... Well, Ruthie might be comfortably established in her place, but she should have no ground for believing she was envied!
A reflection of herself at this moment in the mirror forced a smile from Jeannette’s lips as she detected upon her face a look of haughty condescension. She had been fancying the encounter with Ruthie and had unconsciously assumed the expression that would suit that moment.... Well, Ruthie would have the benefit of that withering, imperious glance; she would realize the minute she saw Jeannette Sturgis that here was a woman that would brook no patronizing airs from her, and in the course of the evening she would have it pointed out to her, in a manner which would leave no room for misunderstanding, that it was she, Jeannette, who had left Martin; hers had never been the rôle of the deserted wife; as far as “leavings” were concerned, Ruthie had them and welcome! ... Ah! She hated her!
The telephone trilled. Jeannette’s heart plunged as she heard Martin’s voice.
“Hello, Jan! Say,—I ’phoned Ruthie and she says for me to bring you out to our house to-night; she says it will be much pleasanter there and we can talk a whole lot better. I rang her up and explained about our having dinner with you at the Bellevue, but she insists that you come on out to our house. She said by all manner of means to bring you. She said she’d ’phone you, herself, but I said I didn’t think that was necessary.”
“Why-y,—I’m afraid——”
“You know we live out at Jenkintown; it’s an awful pretty suburb. I’d like you to see it and I’m crazy to have you see the kids. They’ll still be up by the time we get there. I’ll call for you a little after six and drive you out.”
Jeannette’s mind worked rapidly. There was nothing for her to do but to accept, and to accept graciously.