“I don’t understand. What did she imagine?”
“How do I know? She’s probably got her head farcie with the Deux Amies or some similar twaddle and is capable of imagining anything. Give me a cigarette will you? It’s not worth talking about.”
Nevius went back to the dining-room, but when he returned his face was grave.
“Do you know, Hilda, I wish you would drop that woman. What you tell me is not reassuring, but, independent of that, she has neither manners, breeding nor brains. And how should she! Her grandfather was a Tweedringer, her father the receiver of stolen goods, and yet in the List she has got her maiden name down as Wainwaring; why she is no more a Wainwaring than you are.”
“That is one of her middle names, I think,” Mrs. Nevius answered remotely. “But even otherwise, what does it matter? How can you be so old-fashioned? Nowadays people don’t expect a patent of nobility in everyone they meet; what they do expect is money. Bella has a hundred thousand a year and no one would object if she called herself a Knickerbocker. Besides, is it her fault about her grandfather? I dare say if we got down to bottom facts the original Nevius was no better.”
“The original Nevius was a Latin poet, but that’s neither here nor there. I won’t have her at dinner. She’s a woman with preferences for everybody and attractions for none.”
“She is nothing of the sort, she is very pretty, and anyway there is no use in your picking up Alphabet Jones’ cigarette stumps. He never means a word he says; he talks and talks just for effect. I am tired and sick of him. Did you notice the way he spoke to Ablaut tonight? He doesn’t seem to be aware of the difference in their positions.”
Nevius smiled helplessly and tugged at his moustache. “I think he is, but I am quite sure he would not try to wound Ablaut by referring to it. Here, Michette!”
A black monster, amber of eye, the neck furred like a ruff, the tail fluttering like a banner, gazed through the portiere. Leisurely it promenaded a haughty stare, interrogating the escritoire, the pedestalled lamps, the yellow shaded candles, the grave hangings, capacious chairs, cushioned lounges, plants, flowers and knicknacks with which the high-ceiled room was provided. Then, assured that all intruders had gone, it stepped gingerly and circuitously to where Nevius sat and with a sudden purr bounded to his side.
“There Michette, I know all about it. You don’t like strangers any more than I do. Do you, you lobster?”
Michette opened and closed his eyes and purred profusely.
“And you have not the remotest desire to go to Tuxedo, have you?”
A thin smile came and vanished in the corners of Mrs. Nevius’ mouth.
“Did Jenny tell you that, too?”
“That Michette—”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“Yes, she said you were all off tomorrow. I do hope you won’t be gone long.”
“But, Carol, when I am here you see nothing of me. You come in just in time for dinner, and after that you are either talking business or writing letters. Oh, I know what you are going to say—that you are trying to make a fortune—but what good does that do me? I want to go out. I want to entertain and be entertained. I want to lead the life that my friends do; and, instead of that, I might just as well be at Bronx. You won’t go to the opera, you won’t go to the assemblies; last winter you would not even take me to Mrs. Bleecker’s. If once in a century I ask people to dinner, unless you have Jenny on one side of you and Jones within call, you don’t speak. And if it were my friends alone that you snubbed! But you won’t even speak to my own family. There was a time when my mother used to beg me to bring you there. Now she never mentions your name. My father says you cut him in the street. But don’t you know that you are making yourself very well hated? The lecture you have read me about Bella Anderson is all very well, but it would be the same thing in regard to anyone else; it always has been. You objected to Viola Raritan, to the Yardes, to the Jerolomons, to this woman, that man and the other. Do you know what I think?”
And Mrs. Nevius, in spite of her manifest indignation, smiled frostily.
“Do you know what I think? You want a wife simply for domestic purposes; to pay the bills, talk to tradesmen, see that the machinery runs smooth; to be your housekeeper by day and your mistress at night.”
“At least I want no other wife than you. It may be selfish of me to act as I do; no doubt it is, but since I have got into these companies I haven’t a moment.”
Mrs. Nevius, whose cigarette had gone out, relighted it, and for a while puffed meditatively. Presently the cigarette was put aside, her features relaxed, and she looked up at her husband with great amiability.
“There, Carol, forgive me. I am out of sorts. I know you work hard; say the word, and I won’t go to Tuxedo.”
“But Hilda, I am delighted to have you go if it amuses you. The only thing is—”
“Well, what?”
“Your companions.”
“What a goose you are. The Andersons are received. Whatever you may say. Belle is perfectly presentable.”
“Oh I don’t mean to imply that she eats sweets with a spoon; nor was it so much of her I was thinking. Ablaut is all very well in his way, but don’t you think he is too much in yours? Don’t you think if he is tagging after you down there that people will gossip?”
Mrs. Nevius gave a twist to her skirt and laughed for sheer joy.
“You dear thing, are you jealous? Tell me, Carol, are you?”
Nevius tormented the tip of his nose reflectively and glanced at his wife. She looked
