What first drew Robert’s attention to his wife’s secret was the sudden inexplicable condoning of his own small negligences and ignorances, which had once been brought to book. So accustomed does the happily married husband of the day become to certain domestic requisitions that the withdrawal of them is apt to arouse his suspicions at once.
These jealous doubts, later on, ran the whole gamut from the postman to the rector of Mrs. Penn’s church, but at first all Robert feared was that she had become indifferent to him. That, after five happy years, she should be sweetly serene when he suddenly remembered that he had bought tickets for the theater, just as they had settled down after dinner for a quiet evening, Mrs. Penn looking prettily domestic in a lilac tea gown! Nothing but the established repugnance of a self-made man to wasting four dollars, even to save his pride, made him uncover his delinquency—and he held his breath till the storm should pass. But no storm followed his confession. Instead of which, she sprang to her feet, laughing:
“Oh, I’m wild to see that play! It has a deep, ethical purpose. Can you give me six minutes to scratch off this gown and bundle myself into another?”
It was so unusual, and she made such a delightful picture standing in the doorway, that he felt that the occasion deserved recognition.
“You may have twelve minutes to dress in, Helen. I’ll call a cab.”
“Oh, Rob, how lovely!” and off she flew.
After a moment spent in the happy digestion of this delightful antenuptial way of exculpating a really outrageous masculine default, it slowly dawned upon him, as he arose and emptied the ash tray into the library fire, that it was most unusual, extraordinary, startling! There was a time when she would have made a scene, and either they would have spent the evening apart at home in silence, or together at the theater in a still more painful silence.
At that instant was born in Robert Penn’s already overwrought brain the thought that his wife no longer loved him!
Robert loathed all theatergoing. The mere physical restraint was torture to so active, high-strung a man, but when it came to a problem play—— He not unnaturally considered that it represented the full measure of his devotion to his wife, to spend an evening beside her listening to the same old jumble of human motives, human passions, that had occupied him all day long. Hate, jealousy, revenge, greed, infidelity were the staples of his trade, as it were; the untangling of law, if not always equity, from the seething mass was his raison d’être, and moreover paid his coal bills. That Helen was almost morbidly fond of the theater had long been his heaviest cross.
His thin, dark face looked very worn as he hunched himself into his overcoat in the hall, and, looking up, saw Helen running down the stairs, just as she used to do in the dear old sweetheart days, chattering merrily the while: