On that particular occasion, when at last they were in a taxi, she had begun one of her usual lies about having come downtown for something—a romper for Tatty—only when he ventured to show her what she was doing to herself and him socially, that he was being made a fool of, and that he really couldn’t stand it, hadn’t she flown into the usual rage and exclaimed: “Oh, all right! Why don’t you leave me then? I don’t care! I don’t care! I’m bored! I can’t help it! I can’t always sit out in Sicard Avenue waiting for you!”
In Sicard Avenue. And that on top of always refusing to stay out there or to travel with him anywhere or to meet him and go places! Think of that for a happy married life, will you? Love! Love! Yes, love! Hell!
Well, here was Lawndale now, only eighteen miles—that meant about eighteen minutes from here, the way they were running now—and he would soon see her now if she was at home. If she only were, just this one time, to kiss him and laugh and ask about the trip and how he had made out, and let him propose some quiet dinner somewhere for just the two of them, a quiet dinner all to themselves, and then home again! How delightful that would be! Only— No doubt Charles would be at the station with the jitney, as he always called the yellow racer. He would have to summon all his ease to make his inquiry, for one had to keep one’s face before the servants, you know—but then it was entirely possible that Charles wouldn’t know whether she was home or not. She didn’t always tell the servants. If she wasn’t there, though—and after that letter and telegram— Well—now—this time!—by God!—
Wheelwright! They were running a little later, perhaps, but they would enter the station nearly on time!
But take, again, that last affair, that awful scene in the Shackamaxon at C——, when without his knowing it she had gone down there with Bodine and Arbuthnot and that wretched Aikenhead. Think of being seen in a public place like the Shackamaxon with Aikenhead and two such other wasters (even if Mrs. Bodine were along—she was no better than the others!), when she was already married and under so much suspicion as it was. If it weren’t for him she would have been driven out of society long ago! Of course she would have! Hadn’t General and Mrs. de Pasy cut her dead on that occasion?—only when they saw that he had joined her they altered their expressions and were polite enough, showing what they would do if they had to deal with her alone.
That brown automobile racing this train! How foolish some automobilists were!
Well, that time, coming home and finding her away, he had run down to C—— on the chance of finding her there—and sure enough there she was dancing with Aikenhead and Bodine by turns, and Mrs. Bodine and that free Mrs. Gildas and Belle Geary joining them later. And when he had sought her out to let her know he was back quite safe and anxious to see her, hadn’t she turned on him with all the fury of a wildcat—“Always following me up and snooping around after me to catch me in something!” and that almost loud enough for all the others to hear! It was terrible! How could anybody stand for such a thing! He couldn’t, and retain his self-respect. And yet he had—yes, he had, more shame to him! But if it hadn’t been that he had been so lonely just beforehand and so eager to see her, and hadn’t had those earrings for her in his pocket—thinking they would please her—perhaps he wouldn’t have done as he did, backed down so. As it was—well, all he could think of at the moment was to apologize—to his own wife!—and plead that he hadn’t meant to seem to follow her up and “snoop around.” Think of that! Hang it all, why hadn’t he left her then and there? Supposing she didn’t come back? Supposing she didn’t? What of it? What of it? Only—
“This way out, please.”
Well, here was G—— at last, and there was Charles, well enough, waiting as usual. Would she be home now? Would she? Perhaps, after all, he had better not say anything yet, just go around to Kiralfy’s and get the flowers. But to what end, really, if she weren’t there again? What would he do this time? Surely this must be the end if she weren’t there, if he had any strength at all. He wouldn’t be put upon in this way again, would he?—after all he had told himself he would do the last time if ever it happened again! His own reputation was at stake now, really. It depended on what he did now. What must the servants think—his always following her up and she never being there or troubling about him in the least?
“Ah, Charles, there you are! To Kiralfy’s first, then home!”