In the presence of her frailty he looked more robust, more of a Phoenician pirate than ever. She gloried in his picturesque lawlessness, in the unrestraint of his gestures, in his uncouth silences. What a lover for a woman to have! As she lay there in her weakness she recalled the passion of his arms about her: how he had often hurt her with his kisses, and she had been glad. She wished that she might feel his arms about her now.
“Who is she?” she asked again.
Her question went unanswered. She turned her head wearily to the little boy. “Teddy, what’s my old pirate been doing? Who is she? You’ll tell.”
Before Teddy could answer, her husband laughed loudly. “If you’re jealous, you’re not going to die.”
The riot of relief in his voice explained his undemonstrativeness. Tears sprang into her eyes. How she had misjudged him! She rolled her head luxuriously from side to side. “You funny boy—die! How could I, when you’d be left?”
Running across the room, he sprawled himself out on the edge of the bed. Forgetting she was fragile, he leant across her breast and kissed her heavily on the mouth. She raised herself up to prolong the joy and fell back exhausted. “Oh, that was good!” she murmured. “The dear velvet jacket and the smoky smell—all that’s you! All that’s life! I’m not jealous any longer; but who is she?”
He pulled the loose ends of his tie and shook his head. “Don’t know, and that’s a fact. She just turned up and wanted to be painted. When I’d smarted, I lost my head; couldn’t stop; got carried away. Don’t know whether you’d like her, Dearie; she’s a wonderful person. Sings like a bird—sets me thinking—inspires. Work! Why, I’ve not worked so steadily since—I don’t know when. I was worried about you and glad to forget Hard luck on you, Dearie; I’m a stupid fellow to show my sorrow by stopping away. But as to who she is, seems to me that Teddy can tell you best.”
She squeezed the little boy’s hand. “Who is she, Teddy?” Teddy looked blank. “Don’t know—not exactly. She was in Mrs. Sheerug’s house with Hal, and—and then she came and sang to me in bed.”
“She did that?” His mother smiled. “She must be a good woman to love my little boy.” Then to her husband, after a moment’s reflection: “But what’s the picture?”
His face lit up with enthusiasm. “It’s going to do the trick this time. It’ll make us famous. We’ll move into a big house. You’ll have breakfast in bed with a boudoir cap, and all your gowns’ll come from Paris.”