“Am I?” she said, turning an eye of fiery menace on him. “Maybe I am, and what’s that matter?” Then, turning back to the bed, “Too bad, isn’t it, and the set not paid for yet.”
“Not paid for!” he exclaimed, so amazed by the statement that he forgot everything else. “Why, I’ve given you the money for it twice!”
“Three times,” she amended coolly, “and I spent it on things I liked better. I bought clothes, and jewelry with it, and little fixings I wanted. Yes, the bedroom set isn’t all paid for yet and we’ve had it nearly two years. Who would have thought that the son of Con Ryan didn’t pay his bills!”
She rose, threw the cane into the corner, and, turning toward him, leaned back, half-sitting on the foot-board, her hands, palm downward, pressed on its rounded top. The chandelier was directly over her head and cast a powerful light on her face. This was small, pointed, and of that sallow hue which is often noticeable in the skins of brunette women who are no longer in their first youth. She had a nose that drooped a little at the tip and an upper lip which was long and closed firmly and secretively on the lower one. Her dark eyes, large and brilliant, had the slightest tendency toward a slanting setting, the outer corners being higher than the inner ones. Under the shower of light from above, her thick hair, bleached to a reddish auburn and worn in a loose knot on top of her head, cast a shadow over her forehead, and below this her eyes blazed on her husband. Many men would have thought her an unusually pretty woman, but no man, save one of her own sort, could have faced her at this moment without quailing.
Dominick and she had had many quarrels, ignominious and repulsive, but he had never before seen her in so savage a mood. Even yet he had not lost the feeling of responsibility and remorse he felt toward her. As he moved from the mantelpiece his eye had fallen on the ball-dress that lay, a sweep of lace and silver, across the bed, and on the bureau he had seen jewels and hair ornaments laid out among the powder boxes and scent bottles. The pathos of these futile preparations appealed to him and he made an effort to be patient and just.
“It’s been a disappointment,” he said, “and I’m sorry about it. But I’ve done all I could and there’s no use doing any more. You’ve got to give it up. There’s no use trying to make my mother give in. She won’t.”
“Won’t she?” she cried, her voice suddenly loud and shaken with rage. “We’ll see! We’ll see! We’ll see if I’ve married into the Ryan family for nothing.”
Her wrath at last loosened, her control was instantly swept away. In a moment she was that appalling sight, a violent and vulgar woman in a raging passion. She ran round the bed and, seizing the dress, threw it on the floor and stamped on it, grinding the delicate fabric into the carpet with her heels.
“There!” she cried. “That’s what I feel about it! That’s the way I’ll treat the things and the people I don’t like! That dress—it isn’t paid for, but I don’t want it. I’ll get another when I do. Have I married Con Ryan’s son to need money and bother about bills? Not on your life! Did you notice the gas? Every burner turned on. Well, I did it just to have a nice bright house for you when you came home without the invitation. We haven’t paid the bill for two months—but what does that matter? We’re related to the Ryans. We don’t have to trouble about bills.”
He saw that she was beyond arguing with and turned to leave the room. She sprang after him and caught him by the arm, pouring out only too coherent streams of rage and abuse. It was the old story of the “wrongs” she had suffered at his hands, and his “ruin” of her. To-night it had no power to move him and he shook her off and left the room. She ran to the door behind him and leaning out, cried it after him.