"The whole trouble is that Bert loves neither the children nor myself
any more!" she decided bitterly, on a certain August afternoon, when,
with three other young wives and mothers, she was playing bridge at the
club. It was a Saturday, and Bert was on the tennis courts, where the
semi-finals in the tournament were being played. Nancy had watched all
morning, and had lunched with the other women; the men merely snatched
lunch, still talking of the play. Nancy had noticed disapprovingly that
Bert was flushed and excited, her asides to him seemed to fall upon
unhearing ears. He seemed entirely absorbed in what Oliver Rose and Joe
Underhill were saying; he had lost his own chance for the cup, but was
in high spirits, and was to umpire the afternoon games.
After luncheon Nancy rather discontentedly settled down to bridge, with
Elsie Fielding, Ruth Biggerstaff and a young Mrs. Billings who had only
recently come back to her home in the Gardens, after some years of
travel. They were all pretty and gracious women, and just such a group
as the Nancy of a few years ago would have envied heartily.
But to-day she felt deeply depressed, she knew not why. Perhaps
watching the tennis had given her a slight headache; perhaps Bert's
cavalier treatment of her latest idea of economizing, submitted to him
only a few hours ago, still rankled in her breast.
"Bert," she had said to him suddenly, during a breakfast-table
dissertation in which he had dwelt upon the business capability of some
women, and the utter lack of it in others, "Why not rent Holly Court
and go somewhere else for a year or two?"
Even as she spoke she had been smitten with a sudden dread of all this
must entail for herself. But before she could qualify it, Bert's angry
and impatient answer had come:
"Don't talk nonsense! Do you want everyone to think that, now I'm out
for myself, I can't make a go of it? What would Ingram and Biggerstaff
think, if I began to talk money tightness? I didn't leave the firm, and
strike out for myself to give in this soon!"
Nancy had shrunk back, instantly silenced. She had not spoken to him
again until Oliver Rose called, to remind them of the tennis, and then,
hating herself while she did it, Nancy had forced herself to speak to
Bert, and Bert had somewhat gruffly replied. Once at the club, all
signs of the storm must be quickly brushed aside, but the lingering
clouds lay over her heart now, and she felt desolate and troubled. She
did not want to excuse herself and go home, she did not want to go out
and watch more tennis, but she felt vaguely that she did not want to
play bridge, either. The other women bored her.