Of course I asked what disappointment, whereupon she proceeded to narrate a part of what I have already told to my readers, withholding nearly all the points wherein she had been to blame, and dwelling with apparent delight upon the faults of her husband, who, she protested, was wholly selfish and avaricious. “I know,” said she, “why he married me; ’twas for the sake of the few dollars he thought my grandmother would leave me, and now being disappointed in that, he cares no more for me than he does for you—no, nor half so much, for he always preferred you to me, and I wish I had let you have him, for you liked him, I know, better than I did.”
As she said this, she looked me steadily in the face, as if to read my inmost soul. I felt provoked, for I now thought of my former affection for the doctor as something of which I was a little ashamed, and I did not much like to be reminded of it by his wife. So I ventured to say that “whatever I might once have felt for her husband, it was all over now, and I could think of no greater misfortune than that of being his wife!”
Now, I should know better than to speak thus to any woman concerning her husband, for however much she may talk against him herself, she certainly has no desire or expectation that her listener will agree with her. On this occasion, Dell grew angry at once, telling me “I needn’t speak so lightly of her husband—he was good enough for anybody,” while at the same time she muttered something about “sour grapes!”
I was taken quite aback, and remained silent, until she at last said, laughingly, “I don’t wish to quarrel with you, Rose. Pardon any ill humor I may have manifested. I get nervous and fidgety staying here alone so much.”
“Is not the doctor with you sometimes?” I inquired.
“Oh, yes; once in a great while,” said she; “but he can bear the atmosphere of any other sick-room better than mine. So he’s off—hunting up patients, I suppose. I tell him he gets his living that way, and a poor living it bids fair to be. Between you and me, Rose,” she continued, growing excited, “he is shiftless, if you know what that means, and we are worth to-day just as much as we ever shall be.”
I felt that she wronged him, and told her so, at the same time enumerating his many good qualities, while she listened, evidently better pleased than when I had spoken lightly of him. In the midst of our conversation there was a familiar step in the hall, and a moment after the doctor himself entered the room. He looked careworn and haggard; but at the sight of me, whose presence surprised him, his face quickly lighted up, and there was much of his olden manner as he took my hand and expressed his pleasure at finding me there. ’Twas but a for moment, however, for catching the eye of his wife, he became almost instantly reserved, and seating himself near a window, he pretended to be much occupied with a book, which I accidentally discovered was wrong side up! It was strange how much waiting-upon Dell suddenly needed. Heretofore she had been very quiet, saying she did not wish for anything, but now that he was there, her pillows must be turned, her head must be bathed, the window must be open and then shut, while with every other breath, she declared him to be “the awkwardest man she ever saw,” saying once, “she didn’t wonder he had no more practice if he handled all his patients as roughly as he did her.”
After this unkind speech, the doctor made no farther attempt to please her, but left her side and returned to his seat by the window. Ere long the supper bell rang. I had not supposed it was so late, and starting up announced my intention of going home, but to this neither the doctor nor Dell would listen, both of them insisting upon my staying to tea; she, because she felt that common civility required it, and he, because he really wished it. Once out of her sight, he was himself again, and playfully drawing my arm within his, he led me to the dining-room, placing me at the head of the table, where Dell was accustomed to sit, while he took the seat opposite. As we sat there thus, I shall not say that there came to my mind no thought of what might have been, but I can say, and truthfully too, that such thoughts brought with them naught of pain; for though Dr. Clayton had once possessed the power of swaying me at his will, that time had gone by, and he was to me now only a friend, whom I both liked and pitied, for I knew he was far from being happy. Once, when I handed him his second cup of tea, he said, smiling upon me, “It makes me very happy to see you there—in that seat.”
I made no answer; and, as if thinking he had said what he ought not, he immediately changed the conversation, and began to question me of my studies, etc., asking me among other things, if I went to dancing school. Instantly I remembered Mrs. Ross’s slippers with the little wads of cotton, and I laughed aloud. It seems his thoughts took the same direction, for he, too, laughed so loudly that when we returned to Dell’s room, she rather pettishly inquired what we found to amuse us so much, saying “she hadn’t seen the doctor look so pleased since—since, well, since grandma’s death,” she finally added, at the same time glancing at him to witness the effect of her words.
He turned very white about the mouth, and I am quite certain I heard the word “thunder!” At all events, his eyes flashed angrily upon the provoking woman, who again inquired at what we were laughing. When I told her, she too laughed, saying, “Oh, yes, I remember it well, and have sometimes thought that I owe my present position to that awkward misstep of yours.”