“In my own room,” he was going to write, but that was not exact. It was
Mildred’s room, too. She could come in if she liked. He couldn’t really
shut himself up anywhere on earth. He crossed out the last two words,
and leaned his head on his hands, struggling valiantly to be just, fair,
and exact, and to crush down the extraordinary emotions that outrageous
woman aroused in him.
Never, before his marriage, had he felt such fury, such unreasonable,
ungovernable exasperation. He had had a well deserved reputation for
being a strong, self-controlled, moderate young man. That was one reason
why he had risen high in the credit department of a mammoth
store--because he could handle angry, cajoling, or desperate customers
so firmly and calmly; and here in his own home he was utterly defeated.
He raised his head and looked about him. He saw Mildred’s things
everywhere, crowding and jostling his things--even her silly white comb
standing up in one of his military brushes.
“Well, what of it?” he asked himself. “I’m orderly and she’s not. I
always knew that.”
No use--he could not be philosophic about it. He got up and removed the
comb with a jerk. As he did so, he caught sight of his own face in the
mirror. It startled him. It was a strained and haggard face.
“I can’t stand this!” he said to himself. “This can’t go on!”
And just at this moment the door burst open and she--the cause of all
his exasperation--appeared in the doorway.
“Edward!” she said in a furious, trembling voice. “Will you get that
ladder, or won’t you?”
“I will not,” he replied.
His own voice was not altogether steady, but he was much calmer than
she. She had been crying--he could see that; and, as he faced her, she
began to cry again.
“You beast!” she cried. “You selfish, heartless--”
“Look here!” said Edward. “I can’t--I won’t stand any more of this! I’m
sick and tired--”
“And what about me?” she retorted. “After your promising to make me
happy!”
That was too much. Edward could have reminded her of things she had
promised, but he scorned to do so. Contempt overwhelmed him. She had no
scruples. The only thing on earth she cared about was to get her own
way; and she wasn’t going to get it--not this time! Her monstrous
unfairness, her ruthless egotism, appalled him. He felt anger mounting
to his brain, destroying his fine moderation.
“Look here!” he began.
“I won’t!” said she. “If I’d had any idea what you were really like, I’d
never have married you, Edward Cane!”
“No doubt!” said Edward frigidly. “However, another woman--”
All he had been going to say was that another woman--any other woman in
the world, indeed--would have considered him a fairly good husband; but
Mildred chose to take his words in a different spirit.
“Another woman!” said she, and laughed.
“If things happened as they should,” Edward went on, with heightened
color, “I’d go away--now. I’d go off--”
“With another woman!” said she, and laughed again.
He was glad to hear the doorbell ring. If he hadn’t gone out of the room
just then, he felt that he would certainly have put himself in the
wrong. His patience was exhausted.
“Oh, are you leaving me now, Edward?” Mildred called after him
mockingly. “Hadn’t you better take a clean collar--or a toothbrush, at
least?”
Evidently she hadn’t heard the bell, and he did not condescend to
enlighten her. He made up his mind not to speak to her again, no matter
what the provocation. He went on down the stairs to the front door, and
opened it.
“Edward!” she cried.
Ha! She was giving herself away now! She was worried!
He opened the door wider, and, as he did so, he heard her start down the
stairs. It was only a bill, left lying on the veranda. He stepped out to
pick it up.
“Edward!” he heard her call. “_Eddie!_”
A sudden gust of wind blew the door to with a crash, and an equally
sudden impulse made him go hastily down the steps and along the path.
The front door opened.
“Eddie!” she called. “Come back this instant!”
He strode up the road and turned the corner.
“Do her good!” he said grimly to himself. “Now I’m out, I’ll just stay
out for a while. I’ll smoke, and take a stroll.”
Unfortunately, however, he had changed into an old coat, and had nothing
to smoke with him, and no money to buy anything. Also, he was hatless.
He shrugged his shoulders with a fine gesture of indifference. He could
stroll, anyhow, and think--think this thing out to the bitter end.
It was all bitter, beginning and middle as well as the end. Mildred
wished to make a slave of him, to break his spirit, to destroy his manly
pride. No--this should not be!
It was a strange, uneasy sort of night--blowing up for rain, he thought.
Filmy black clouds went racing across a pallid sky, and the trees rocked
and tossed. It was cool, too, for May. He quickened his steps a little.
“I’m upset,” he thought. “I’m more upset than I realized.”
Somehow, the familiar suburban street had a new and almost sinister
aspect. The trim houses with their lighted windows looked like houses on
the stage--delusions, with no backs to them. Faint and eerie music was
coming through some one’s radio. A dog howled, far away. Everything was
different.
“This is a fool trick,” he thought suddenly. “I can’t stay out here.
I’ll go back and--and simply not answer her.”