"You need have no fear," said he. "You are my wife. You will be well taken care of, and you will not be annoyed. What more can I say?"
"Thank you," she murmured.
He winced. She had made him feel like an unpleasant cross between an alms-giver and a bully. "Now," said he, with forced but resolute cheerfulness, "we will eat, drink and be merry."
On the way down in the elevator he watched her out of the corner of his eye. When they reached the hall leading to the supper room he touched her arm and halted her. "My dear," said he in the pleasant voice which yet somehow never failed to secure attention and obedience, "there will be some of my acquaintances in there at supper. I don't want them to see you with that whipped dog look. There's no occasion for it."
Her lip trembled. "I'll do my best," said she.
"Let's see you smile," laughed he. "You have often shown me that you know the woman's trick of wearing what feelings you choose on the outside. So don't pretend that you've got to look as if you were about to be hung for a crime you didn't commit. There!—that's better."
And indeed to a casual glance she looked the happy bride trying—not very successfully—to seem used to her husband and her new status.
"Hold it!" he urged gayly. "I've no fancy for leading round a lovely martyr in chains. Especially as you're about as healthy and well placed a person as I know. And you'll feel as well as you look when you've had something to eat."
Whether it was obedience or the result of a decision to drop an unprofitable pose he could not tell, but as soon as they were seated and she had a bill of fare before her and was reading it, her expression of happiness lost its last suggestion of being forced. "Crab meat!" she said. "I love it!"
"Two portions of crab meat," he said to the waiter with pad and pencil at attention.