Perhaps the rushing up of simpler, deeper impulses made her hurry from the room when she saw her husband’s carriage stop before the house. He was the one living thing that she could call her own, and this pale-faced and cynical woman felt very lonely for the moment and conscious of the dusk. Parker Steel had signalized his return by a savage slamming of the heavy door. Betty met him in the hall. She went and kissed him, and hung near him almost tenderly as she helped him off with his fur-lined coat.
“You poor thing, how late you are!”
Her husband growled, as though he were in no mood for a woman’s fussing.
“I should like some tea.”
“Of course, dear; you look tired.”
“Hurry it up, I’m busy.”
And he marched into the dining-room, leaving Betty standing in the hall.
The warmer impulses of the moment flickered and died in the wife’s heart. Her eyes had been tender, her mouth soft, and even lovable. The slight shock of the man’s preoccupied coldness drove her back to the unemotional monotony of life. Husbands were unsympathetic creatures. She had read the fact in books as a girl, and had proved it long ago in the person of Parker Steel.
“What is the matter, dear, you look worried?”
Her husband was battering at the sulky fire as though the action relieved his feelings.