At first he tried to get at her point of view, to discover what she found to enjoy in this lunatic existence of aimlessness and futility. One night, as they were driving home from a dinner which had bored him unspeakably, he asked the question point-blank. It seemed to him incredible that she could take pleasure in an entertainment which had filled him with such depression.
“Ruth,” he said impulsively, as the car moved off, “what do you see in this sort of thing? How can you stand these people? What have you in common with them?”
“Poor old Kirk. I know you hated it to-night. But we shan’t be dining with the Baileys every night.”
Bailey Bannister had been their host on that occasion, and the dinner had been elaborate and gorgeous. Mrs. Bailey was now one of the leaders of the younger set. Bailey, looking much more than a year older than when Kirk had seen him last, had presided at the head of the table with great dignity, and the meeting with him had not contributed to the pleasure of Kirk’s evening.
“Were you awfully bored? You seemed to be getting along quite well with Sybil.”
“I like her. She’s good fun.”
“She’s certainly having good fun. I’d give anything to know what Bailey really thinks of it. She is the most shockingly extravagant little creature in New York. You know the Wilburs were quite poor, and poor Sybil was kept very short. I think that marrying Bailey and having all this money to play with has turned her head.”
It struck Kirk that the criticism applied equally well to the critic.
“She does the most absurd things. She gave a freak dinner when you were away that cost I don’t know how much. She is always doing something. Well, I suppose Bailey knows what he is about; but at her present pace she must be keeping him busy making money to pay for all her fads. You ought to paint a picture of Bailey, Kirk, as the typical patient American husband. You couldn’t get a better model.”
“Suggest it to him, and let me hide somewhere where I can hear what he says. Bailey has his own opinion of my pictures.”