“Well, it’s all right now,” said I, probably as indifferently as I felt. Why had God seen fit to create women without the sense of humor? Perhaps to save men from falling altogether under their rule.
“The sufferings of that poor child!” cried Edna. “And the very day after Mrs. Armitage came, Gracie Fortescue asked her to a party, and all the girls have taken her up. Gracie Fortescue is a niece of Hilda Armitage. Her brother married a Fortescue.”
“Really?” said I. “And Margot is happy?”
“No thanks to you,” retorted Edna sourly.
“Well, plunge in, my dear,” said I, beginning to examine the papers before me on the desk. “Only—spare me as much as possible. I need all my time and strength for my work.”
“But you’ll have to go with me to dinners, and to the opera occasionally. I can’t do this thing altogether alone.”
“Say I’m an invalid. Say I’m away. They don’t want me, anyhow. Armitage doesn’t go with his wife.”
“But that’s different,” cried she in a fever. “She has always had social position. It doesn’t matter if people do talk scandal about her. I can’t afford to cause gossip.”
“Why should they gossip? But no matter. I don’t want to worry with that—that higher life, let us call it. Or to be worried with it. Do the best you can for me. I’m a man’s man—always have been—always shall be. If you’ve got to have a man to take you about, dig up one somewhere. I’m willing to pay him well.”
“Always money!” exclaimed she in deep disgust.