“I suppose not. Except that it is a time when youth seems to be pretty securely on the throne of things. And I like to see it get a jolt.”
III
All the way home, Gage had wanted to say something to his wife, something in appreciation of her beauty, something to still somehow the desire to express his love. As they stood for a moment in their hallway he sought for but could not find the words. There was in him a conflicting, a very definite enmity to her consciousness of her powers. He did not want to increase it. It seemed to him that to have her know her charm meant that she would lose it. He had seen her lose it so. When he felt that she was deliberate—
“You were very charming to-night, dearest.”
“The first duty of a woman,” she laughed, “is to be charming, if she can.”
There it was. She had set him back. He felt it cruelly. Why hadn’t she simply turned and thanked him, given him the caress he was waiting for? Why had she made it all what he suspected? She had planned every move. Probably planning now—he became stubborn, thwarted, angry.
“I didn’t care much for your friend,” he said, lighting his cigarette.
“No? But you won’t mind my having her here.”
“Well, as you know, I’d much prefer not. I don’t think that sort of woman a healthy influence.”
“And yet you know, Gage, I might be getting a little tired of merely healthy influences. The change might set me up.”