When Hurstwood returned he was not so elated as when he went away, and now she was obliged to drop practice and get dinner. Here was an early irritation. She would have her work and this. Was she going to act and keep house?
"I'll not do it," she said, "after I get started. He can take his meals out."
Each day thereafter brought its cares. She found it was not such a wonderful thing to be in the chorus, and she also learned that her salary would be twelve dollars a week. After a few days she had her first sight of those high and mighties—the leading ladies and gentlemen. She saw that they were privileged and deferred to. She was nothing—absolutely nothing at all.
At home was Hurstwood, daily giving her cause for thought. He seemed to get nothing to do, and yet he made bold to inquire how she was getting along. The regularity with which he did this smacked of some one who was waiting to live upon her labour. Now that she had a visible means of support, this irritated her. He seemed to be depending upon her little twelve dollars.
"How are you getting along?" he would blandly inquire.
"Oh, all right," she would reply.
"Find it easy?"
"It will be all right when I get used to it."
His paper would then engross his thoughts.
"I got some lard," he would add, as an afterthought. "I thought maybe you might want to make some biscuit."