“You don’t know? You buy without even asking the price?” he pursued.
The enormity of the offense crushed his irritation; it struck at the very foundations of his trust in Deena’s judgment, at her whole future usefulness to him; he almost felt as if his bank account were not in his own keeping.
She tried to answer, but no words would come; explanations were beyond her powers, and she left the room, shutting the door behind her. A passion of tears would have made the situation bearable, but when you are the lady of the house and unexpected company is coming to tea, and you have but one servant, you have to deny yourself such luxuries.
Deena went for a moment into the open air while she steadied her nerves; she forced herself to think what she could add to the evening meal, and succeeded in burying her mortification in a dish of smoked beef and eggs.
Old Mrs. Ponsonby had never given in to late dinners, and Simeon’s digestion was regulated to the more economical plan of a light supper or tea at seven o’clock.
Deena gave the necessary orders and went upstairs to her own room. One blessing was hers—a bedroom to herself. Simeon had given her his mother’s room and retained his own, which was directly in the rear. She shut the communicating door, and was glad she had done so when she heard his step in the passage and knew he had come to make the brief toilet he thought necessary for tea. She tore off her finery—hung the pretty costume in her closet, and, as she laid her hat on the shelf, registered a vow that no power on earth should induce her to pay for it with Ponsonby money. Though the clock pointed to ten minutes to seven, she shook down her hair and parted it in the severe style that had won its way to her mother-in-law’s heart. At this point Simeon’s door opened, and Deena remembered, with regret, that she had omitted to tell him that French was coming to tea. He was already halfway downstairs, but she came out into the passageway and called him. He stopped, gave a weary sigh, and came back.
“I forgot to tell you Mr. French is coming to tea,” she said, quite in her usual tone.
“Who asked him?” demanded Simeon, and Deena, too proud to put the responsibility on French, where it belonged, said: “I did.”
Simeon was not an ill-tempered man, but he had had an exasperating day, and his wife’s conduct had offended his prejudices; he was not in a company frame of mind, and was at small pains to conceal his feelings; he hardly looked at her as he said:
“I do not question your right to ask people to the house, but I should be glad to be consulted. My time is often precious beyond what you can appreciate, and I happen to be exceptionally busy to-night—even French will be an unwelcome interruption.”