"No, I'm not. You've got the good woman's instinct to please her
husband, and you think you've conquered your dislike. But you haven't."
"How you understand women," said she placidly. "But then there isn't
much to understand about a woman--a good woman."
"Oh, you underestimate yourself," said he generously. "You're a very
clever little lady--in your own charming feminine way. I often admire
it."
A ghost of a smile flitted about her lips; but she seemed more intent
upon her nails than upon his half-absent compliment.
"To confess the honest truth," he went on, "I've never liked Gallatin
myself. I know he's a good sort-- But-- Well, he has no depth. He
has a stock of education and a stock of manners, just as he has a stock
of clothes. But it's all of some one else's make; nothing of his own,
except a pleasant, amiable disposition. And he lacks purpose. However,
all these things--especially lack of purpose--would only recommend him
to a woman. Women are so frivolously constituted that purpose is a bore
to them."
"Any more of a bore than it is to most men?" inquired Courtney.
Vaughan laughed acknowledgment. "Anyhow, I couldn't warm up to him.
He's going, but he keeps his partnership--at least, for the present."
"Has he gone?"
"Of course not! He'd hardly be so rude as not to say good-by to you.
Do you know why I think he's going?"
"Didn't he tell you?"
"He says a business letter came at noon to-day. And no doubt it had
something to do with it. But mere business would hardly take him off in
such a rush. At first I thought it was a hurry call from some idle
female for him to come and amuse her. All bachelors get them, and
Gallatin's just the sort of gander to respond. But on second thought I
suspected he's flying because he's in love with you."
Courtney, conscious that his eyes were on her face, smiled.
"It's natural that you, being a good woman, shouldn't notice it."
"Women sometimes think a man's in love with them when he isn't," said
she. "But the woman never lived--good, bad, or both--who didn't know
when a man was in love with her."
"Well, I may be mistaken. But he had a queer way of acting. Why, only
this morning he was lowering at me like a demon." Vaughan laughed.
"Poor Gallatin. But he'll pull through all right."
"No doubt," said Courtney.
"Sometimes--now and then--a man or woman in love, and staying in some
dull place, where there's nothing to do but brood, does go under, with
love one among the contributing causes," pursued Richard. "But not a
city person. And Gallatin's going to New York." Something in her
expression made him hasten to say: "Now, please don't get angry. I
apologize. I admit my joking was somewhat coarse. Naturally it grated
on your modesty. Really, I was only joking. I know he's going for
business reasons. Then, too, he has a grouch for me because of the
fearful punch I gave him. No, he--any man who has led a free life as
long as he has--could no more appreciate a good woman--a woman like you
than--than--a drunkard could appreciate a glass of pure, clear,
sparkling spring water."
Courtney gathered her manicure set together, swept it noisily into the
drawer. "Go out, and let me finish dressing," said she in a low voice
between her set teeth.
And he departed, saying: "What a relief it'll be to have Gallatin off
the place--to have it to ourselves again."
She sat motionless with her eyes down. Presently she lifted them, saw
her reflection in the mirror. She gazed in horror. She had relaxed the
instant he left her alone, and now all her anguish was in her features.
"A little more of this," said she, "and I'd be an old woman." She
passed her hands over her face, looked into her eyes. "Spring water"
flashed to her mind. Her eyes wavered and sank; her skin burned. But
her hungry heart clamored defiantly.
When she reached the dining room her husband and Basil and Winchie were
already at the supper table. As they rose, Basil did not lift his eyes;
her husband gave her a glance of greeting. But Richard, the married man
of five years, did not really see her face as it then was, but the face
that had long been fixed in his mind as hers. To have seen her as she
was, he would have had to be startled out of matrimonial myopia by some
shock. There was no arresting change flaunted in Courtney's features;
youth has no wrinkles and hollows in which the shadows of emotion can
gather thick and linger. She simply looked tired and not well. Her
eyes were veiled; but in her skin there was a lack of the ruddy tinge
beneath the bronze, and in her hair, which was with her an unfailing
index to health or to spirits, there was a suggestion of the
lifelessness that is in the last wan autumn leaves the dreary winds of
November spurn. In tones that seemed to them more unnatural than they
were, she and Basil exchanged the commonplaces necessary on such an
occasion. Winchie watched her sympathetically. Presently he dropped
down from his chair, came round to her. He put his arm about her neck,
drew her head toward him, kissed her tenderly, and whispered, "Mamma is
sick."