So I promised the man I would return when I could drive, and made arrangements to begin lessons on the following day.
I returned home full of my new hobby. At all costs I must keep it a secret from her. Her economical soul would rebel at my splendid sacrifice. Then again I wanted the surprise to be a dramatic one. I would tell her one day to meet me at the Place de l’Opera, and as she lingered, patiently waiting for me to come plodding along on “train onze,” up I would dash on my Baby Mignonne. Removing my goggles, I would laugh into her amazed face. Then I would remark in a casual way:
“I thought you might be too tired to walk home, so I brought you round your car. Jump in quickly. We’re blocking up the traffic.”
So clearly did I see the picture that I chuckled over my coffee and Camembert.
“What make you so amuse?” she asked curiously.
“Oh, nothing,” I said hurriedly. “I was just thinking of a little business I have in hand.”
I continued to chuckle throughout the day, and my wife continued to wonder at this change in her husband. (Here let me change for a moment from my view point to hers.) She never pryed into his affairs, but nevertheless she watched him curiously. And day by day his conduct was still more puzzling. Although an inveterate late riser, he sprang from bed at half-past seven and dressed quickly. Then after a hurried breakfast he said: “I’ve got an engagement at nine. Don’t wait for me.” She did not dare ask him where he was going, but she saw an eager glow in his eyes, a gladness as of one hastening to a tryst.
And when he returned how joyous he was! With what a hearty appetite he attacked his lunch! How demonstrative in his affection! (Wives, when husbands grow demonstrative in their affection, begin to get suspicious.)
She marked, too, his unusual preoccupation. He had something on his mind; something he was desperately anxious to keep from her. He seemed afraid to meet her eye. She began to be anxious, even afraid.
Next morning he arose at the same time and went off again on his mysterious business. She fretted: she worried. She knew he was wilful and headstrong; she knew he would always be an enigma to her; she loved him for that very quality of aloofness; yet over all she loved him because of his caprice, because some day she dreaded she might lose him. He had moods she feared, subtle, harsh moods; then again he was helpless and simple as a child.