I had a feeling that he understood me, not intellectually, but emotionally. What a companion he might have been!... Moreton and Biddy moved me less. They were more robust, more normal, less introspective and imaginative; Europe meant nothing to them, but they were frankly delighted and excited at the prospect of going on the ocean, asking dozens of questions about the great ship, impatient to embark.....
“I shan't need all that, Hugh,” Maude said, when I handed her a letter of credit. “I—I intend to live quite simply, and my chief expenses will be the children's education. I am going to give them the best, of course.”
“Of course,” I replied. “But I want you to live over there as you have been accustomed to live here. It's not exactly generosity on my part,—I have enough, and more than enough.”
She took the letter.
“Another thing—I'd rather you didn't go to New York with us, Hugh. I know you are busy—”
“Of course I'm going,” I started to protest.
“No,” she went on, firmly. “I'd rather you didn't. The hotel people will put me on the steamer very comfortably,—and there are other reasons why I do not wish it.” I did not insist.... On the afternoon of her departure, when I came uptown, I found her pinning some roses on her jacket.
“Perry and Lucia sent them,” she informed me. She maintained the friendly, impersonal manner to the very end; but my soul, as we drove to the train, was full of un-probed wounds. I had had roses put in her compartments in the car; Tom and Susan Peters were there with more roses, and little presents for the children. Their cheerfulness seemed forced, and I wondered whether they suspected that Maude's absence would be prolonged.
“Write us often, and tell us all about it, dear,” said Susan, as she sat beside Maude and held her hand; Tom had Biddy on his knee. Maude was pale, but smiling and composed.
“I hope to get a little villa in France, near the sea,” she said. “I'll send you a photograph of it, Susan.”