“That’s all right. I can find homes enough. A man with plenty of money don’t have to look for a home.”
So it was settled that Rene should do as she pleased, Max giving as his reason for leaving New York that Rene was growing delicate, and she needed a change of air, to which Mapleton replied he couldn’t see but that she looked as rosy as ever; but he supposed that Max, like every other love-sick husband, imagined a great deal, but he didn’t care where she lived. She was to have a pretty good allowance, and she could do as she pleased with it.
The cottage was splendidly furnished, and there with her servants, Rene began the life she called perfectly happy. Max loved his ease, and for a time he was ready to accede to her every wish, and told Irene that he had no desire to leave her even for an hour. She was quite content to live with no society but his. But as the weeks wore on Max began to think that it was quite 188 out of place for a man to tie himself down so closely, and he intimated that his health was becoming impaired by such close confinement, and his visits to the billiard hall, and places of like amusement became more and more frequent.
“Max, dear,” Irene said, one evening, as he was preparing to go out, “I wish you would stay home to-night.”
“I can’t, dear. I have promised some friends that I would meet them for a prize game of billiards, and I can’t stay. Some other night I will.”
“It seems to me that you go out a great deal lately. It may be as well for you to remember how we stand financially.”
“Oh, it will be all right, dearest,” he said, kissing her. “Don’t be lonely to-night, pet, and I will promise to stay with you in future.”
Rene was satisfied, for she believed Max would do as he promised, and she was really quite happy again, when the next evening he drew on his slippers, and ordered two glasses and a bottle of choice wine, and sitting back in his easy-chair, lit his cigar with an air of perfect content.
“Rene, darling,” he said after a few moments’ silence, “don’t you think it is growing a little monotonous, living as we do?”
“Perhaps it is.”