In her own pink and lovely bedroom, she confined her attentions to her face, which she washed and restored. Doctor Moon didn’t deserve a change of dress, and Luella found herself oddly tired, though she had done very little all day. She returned to the living-room, and they went in to dinner.
“Such a nice house, Mrs. Hemple,” said Doctor Moon impersonally; “and let me congratulate you on your fine little boy.”
“Thanks. Coming from a doctor, that’s a nice compliment.” She hesitated. “Do you specialize in children?”
“I’m not a specialist at all,” he said. “I’m about the last of my kind—a general practitioner.”
“The last in New York, anyhow,” remarked Charles. He had begun rubbing his face nervously, and Luella fixed her eyes on Doctor Moon so that she wouldn’t see. But at Charles’s next words she looked back at him sharply.
“In fact,” he said unexpectedly, “I’ve invited Doctor Moon here because I wanted you to have a talk with him tonight.”
Luella sat up straight in her chair.
“A talk with me?”
“Doctor Moon’s an old friend of mine, and I think he can tell you a few things, Luella, that you ought to know.”
“Why—” She tried to laugh, but she was surprised and annoyed. “I don’t see, exactly, what you mean. There’s nothing the matter with me. I don’t believe I’ve ever felt better in my life.”
Doctor Moon looked at Charles, asking permission to speak. Charles nodded, and his hand went up automatically to his face.
“Your husband has told me a great deal about your unsatisfactory life together,” said Doctor Moon, still impersonally. “He wonders if I can be of any help in smoothing things out.”
Luella’s face was burning.
“I have no particular faith in psychoanalysis,” she said coldly, “and I scarcely consider myself a subject for it.”
“Neither have I,” answered Doctor Moon, apparently unconscious of the snub; “I have no particular faith in anything but myself. I told you I am not a specialist, nor, I may add, a faddist of any sort. I promise nothing.”
For a moment Luella considered leaving the room. But the effrontery of the suggestion aroused her curiosity too.
“I can’t imagine what Charles has told you,” she said, controlling herself with difficulty, “much less why. But I assure you that our affairs are a matter entirely between my husband and me. If you have no objections, Doctor Moon, I’d much prefer to discuss something—less personal.”
Doctor Moon nodded heavily and politely. He made no further attempt to open the subject, and dinner proceeded in what was little more than a defeated silence. Luella determined that, whatever happened, she would adhere to her plans for tonight. An hour ago her independence had demanded it, but now some gesture of defiance had become necessary to her self-respect. She would stay in the living-room for a short moment after dinner; then, when the coffee came, she would excuse herself and dress to go out.
But when they did leave the dining-room, it was Charles who, in a quick, unarguable way, vanished.
“I have a letter to write,” he said; “I’ll be back in a moment.” Before Luella could make a diplomatic objection, he went quickly down the corridor to his room, and she heard him shut his door.
Angry and confused, Luella poured the coffee and sank into a corner of the couch, looking intently at the fire.
“Don’t be afraid, Mrs. Hemple,” said Doctor Moon suddenly. “This was forced upon me. I do not act as a free agent—”
“I’m not afraid of you,” she interrupted. But she knew that she was lying. She was a little afraid of him, if only for his dull insensitiveness to her distaste.
“Tell me about your trouble,” he said very naturally, as though she were not a free agent either. He wasn’t even looking at her, and except that they were alone in the room, he scarcely seemed to be addressing her at all.
The words that were in Luella’s mind, her will, on her lips, were: “I’ll do no such thing.” What she actually said amazed her. It came out of her spontaneously, with apparently no cooperation of her own.
“Didn’t you see him rubbing his face at dinner?” she said despairingly. “Are you blind? He’s become so irritating to me that I think I’ll go mad.”
“I see.” Doctor Moon’s round face nodded.
“Don’t you see I’ve had enough of home?” Her breasts seemed to struggle for air under her dress. “Don’t you see how bored I am with keeping house, with the baby—everything seems as if it’s going on forever and ever? I want excitement; and I don’t care what form it takes or what I pay for it, so long as it makes my heart beat.”
“I see.”
It infuriated Luella that he claimed to understand. Her feeling of defiance had reached such a pitch that she preferred that no one should understand. She was content to be justified by the impassioned sincerity of her desires.
“I’ve tried to be good, and I’m not going to try any more. If I’m one of those women who wreck their lives for nothing, then I’ll do it now. You can call me selfish, or silly, and be quite right; but in five minutes I’m going out of this house and begin to be alive.”
This time Doctor Moon didn’t answer, but he raised his head as if he were listening to something that was taking place a little distance away.
“You’re not going out,” he said after a moment; “I’m quite sure you’re not going out.”
Luella laughed.
“I am going out.”
He disregarded this.
“You see, Mrs. Hemple, your husband isn’t well. He’s been trying to live your kind of life, and the strain of it has been too much for him. When he rubs his mouth—”
Light steps came down the corridor, and the maid, with a frightened expression on her face, tiptoed into the room.
“Mrs. Hemple—”
Startled at the interruption, Luella turned quickly.
“Yes?”
“Can I speak to—?” Her fear broke precipitately through her slight
