In a jewellery store Trudy Vondeplosshe, wrapped in wine-coloured velours, was coquetting with diamond rings under glass and trying to affect an air of indifference concerning them. With all her husband’s rise in the world he did not see fit to bestow upon his wife any substantial token of his regard. The vague and transitory idea he once entertained of playing off fairy godfather to her and placing a fortune at her feet had become past history. Now that Gay did run a motor and wear monogrammed silk shirts he saw to it that Trudy had as little as the law allowed. She still continued remaking her dresses and haunting remnant counters, sewing on Gay’s work, playing off the same overstrained, underfed Trudy as in the first days at the Graystone apartment. But as it was for a good time she never thought of faltering.
She had decided, however, that it was time now to adopt other and more forceful methods of obtaining the things she craved and felt she had earned. Foremost, as with many women, was a diamond ring. After obtaining this she would turn in her wedding ring for old gold, the price to apply on a platinum circlet studded with brilliants. For months Trudy’s eyes had glittered greedily as she observed Gay’s clientele with their jewelled bags, rings, brooches, watches, and what not––yet she possessed not a single gem.
She had often enough asked Gay for one, to which he would sneer: “What do you want with a diamond? You know I’m always on the ragged edge of failing!”
“Because you gamble and drink and are a born fool,” she protested. “You could make real money if you would listen to me and keep quiet.”
“I can’t see what that has to do with your wanting a diamond ring! If I ever make real money you can have one but not when auto tires are as high as they are–––”
“And when husbands grow tipsy and drive into ditches and have to be brought home by horses and wagons. Oh, no. But you’ll go shopping with Beatrice and pick out her jewellery and tell her jewels have souls and a lot more bunk, and then get a commission as soon as her back is turned! Why don’t you get me a diamond instead, and omit the bunk? I’ll take one with a flaw––I’m used to seconds. You must believe me when I say that, because I married you.”
Gay no longer feared Trudy; in fact, he felt he had little use for her. She was an obstacle to his making an excellent marriage. Through Trudy and all the rest of the complicated ladder climbing he was now recognized, and real men were extremely busy these days getting the tag ends of war-debris business in shape. It was quite a different situation––he could have had his choice of several widows. Take it all in all, he preferred a matron, his days at playing with debutantes were in the discard. The business of buying and selling antiques and interior decorating had so inflated his one-cylinder brain that he really fancied he needed a mature companionship and understanding.
“I’ll buy you a diamond ring, old dear,” he said, lightly, “when you have me in a corner, hands up––so set your wits to work and see what you can do about it.”