"You were raked over the coals, eh, Gus?"
Mrs. Symes flushed in discomfiture.
"Oh, no--not exactly."
"Oh, yes, you were. Don't deny it; you're as transparent as a
window-pane. What was it?"
"He has found out--some one has told him that we--that I have been
drinking occasionally."
"That old woman." Dr. Harpe jerked her head contemptuously toward the
kitchen.
"Probably it was grandma--she doesn't like it, I'm sure, for I never was
allowed to do anything of the sort; in fact, I never thought of it or
cared to."
"You are a free human being, aren't you? You can do what you like?"
"I've always preferred to do what Phidias liked since we've been
married."
"Phidias! Phidias! You make me tired! You talk like a peon!"
Her hand rested heavily upon Mrs. Symes's shoulder. "Assert
yourself--don't be a fool! Let's have a drink." Mrs. Symes winced under
her tightening grip.
"Oh, no, no," she replied hastily. "Phidias would be furious. I--I
wouldn't dare."
"Look here." She took Mrs. Symes's chin in her hand and raised her face,
looking deep into her eyes. "Won't you do it for me? because I ask you?"
"I can't." There was an appeal in her eyes as she lifted them to the
determined face above her.
"You can. You _will_. Do you want me to stay away again?"
"No, no, no!"
"Then do what I ask you--just this once, and I'll not ask it again." She
saw the weakening in the other woman's face. "Come on," she urged.
Mrs. Symes rose mechanically with a doubting, dazed expression and Dr.
Harpe followed her inside.
Throughout the constraint of the dinner Dr. Harpe sat with a lurking
smile upon her face. The domestic storm she had raised had been prompted
solely by one of those impulses of deviltry which she seemed sometimes
unable to restrain. It was not the part of wisdom to antagonize Symes,
but her desire to convince him, and Augusta, and herself, that hers was
the stronger will when it came to a test, was greater than her
discretion. This was an occasion when she could not resist the
temptation to show her power, and Symes with his eyes shining ominously
found her illy-concealed smirk of amusement and triumph far harder to
bear than Augusta's tittering, half-hysterical defiance.
When she had gone and Symes had closed the door of their sleeping
apartment behind him he turned to Augusta.
"Well, what explanation have you to make?"
The cold interrogation brought her to herself like a dash of water.
"Oh, Phidias!" she whimpered, and sank down upon the edge of the bed,
rolling her handkerchief into a ball between her palms, like an abashed
and frightened child.
Her uncertain dignity, her veneer of breeding dropped from her like a
cloak and she was again the blacksmith's sister, self-conscious, awed
and tongue-tied in the imposing presence of Andy P. Symes. Her prominent
knees visible beneath her thin skirt, her flat feet sprawling at an
awkward angle, unconsciously added to Symes's anger. She looked, he
thought, like a terrified servant that has broken the cut-glass berry
bowl. Yet subconsciously he was aware that he was wounded deeper than
his vanity by her disregard of his wishes.
"I insist upon an answer."
"I--I haven't any answer except--that--that I'm sorry."
"Did you drink at Dr. Harpe's suggestion?" he demanded in growing wrath.
She wadded the handkerchief between her palms and swallowed hard before
she shook her head.
"No."
"She should never come here again if I thought you were not telling me
the truth."
Agitation leaped into her eyes beneath their lowered lids and she
blurted in a kind of desperation--
"But I am--it was my fault--I suggested it--she had nothing to do with
it!"
"Am I to understand that you have no intention of respecting my wishes
in this matter?"
She arose suddenly and began weeping upon his shoulder. The action and
her tears softened him a little.
"Am I, Augusta?"
"No; I'll never do it again--honest truly."
"That's enough, then--we'll say no more about it. This is a small matter
comparatively, but it is our first clash and we must understand each
other. Where questions arise which concern your welfare and mine you
must abide by my judgment, and this is one of them. I am old-fashioned
in my ideas concerning women, or, rather, concerning the woman that is
my wife, and I do not like the notion of your drinking alone or with
another woman; with anyone else, in fact, except when you are with
me--and then moderately. Personally, I like a womanly woman; Dr. Harpe
is--amusing--but I should not care to see you imitate her. One does not
fancy eccentricity in one's wife. There, there," he kissed her
magnanimously, "now we'll forget this ever happened."