Small wonder then that the mother adored him,—that she saw in him a gifted creature not to be approached by the common run of humanity. It had come to be Emil's custom to visit his mother at least once in a fortnight, and, from the moment that they met, those thin hands of hers had power in their caresses to transform him. Under their gentle touch, the fire of his mind dwindled, the warmth of his heart grew; the genius of a world was submerged in the son of a mother. And on Mrs. St. Ives their companionship had an opposite effect. Questioning him about his work, her brain in his presence acquiring something of the agility of youth, she lit herself at the flame that was in her son.
Naturally the neglected Annie was jealous of this love. She never missed an opportunity to pick a quarrel with her husband on the subject of his devotion to his mother, but it was seldom she could provoke a retort. Emil bore her reproaches indifferently. One morning in May matters reached a decisive point.
At midnight Emil was off, bound for the village that drew him like a magnet, and some hours later Annie sat over breakfast. She sat in one of the interior rooms, which was fitted up with a gas-stove and a few household necessities. Being left by herself frightened Annie. The janitress of the building, a good motherly soul, had orders to look out for her in Emil's absence; but the woman had gone about her duties some time earlier. Now, except for Ding Dong and the little chattering monkey, Annie was alone. Ding Dong, who had taken upon himself the duties of cook in this establishment, tried to tempt her with choice bits of food and Lulu made constant timid advances toward her friendship; Annie would look at neither of them. She saw in them a summing-up of the unusual, wretched and ridiculous situation.
Now tears rolled down her face. Why had she left home? Why had she married Alexander? This was the constant refrain that beat in her brain. All things considered, the imperturbable inventor could scarcely have chosen a more unlucky moment to appear. The door opened and there he stood.
Smiling, he entered the room, and at the account he gave of his movements, Annie's eyes gleamed with anger and the muscles of one cheek twitched.
"Well," he explained, tossing aside his hat, "Mother was all right. I saw her through the window, and then I managed to get the next train back. You see, it was raining when I got in this morning," he went on, "and had I let Mother know I was there, she'd have been out to meet me, if she got her death for it. So I took only a look at her. There she was with the tiresome brats tumbling all over her, enough to wear her out, but she looked as cheerful as could be. Only six o'clock, and the whole lot of them waiting for breakfast! By Jove, but Edgar's family get up betimes! it's part of his confounded thrift. Breakfast and lunch at one sitting is more to my mind," and Emil approached the table to pour himself a cup of coffee.
But Annie was quicker. Seizing the coffee-pot, she held it behind her at imminent risk of spilling the contents.
"No, you shan't have it," she cried. "I'm sick of your performances, and I'll not put up with them. You say you went to your brother's? If you did, why didn't you go in openly? Edgar's not a wolf, I suppose. From all you tell me, he lives decently in a house, which is more than we do; and they have nice things. He's a wealthy man and your meeting might have led to something—instead of that, you take an expensive trip, just for the sake of peeping through a window at your mother, when you saw her only a few days ago. And then you come back here, thinking only of her, always of her—and you expect to go on eating and drinking—"
Emil viewed his wife in troubled astonishment:
"And why shouldn't I eat and drink?"