“Aren’t you going to dress?”
As Mrs. Nevius spoke, the tips of her lips just moving, her chin a trifle advanced, her eyebrows arched, the blue splendors of her eyes dilating, she might have sat for Spring pouting at Winter.
With the sans-gêne of a married man, Nevius dropped in a chair.
“Anyone would think I had shot you,” she added, after a pause which she made populous with interrogations.
Nevius straightened himself.
“How long will it take you to pack?”
“Two months.”
“Hilda! do be serious.”
“Two months I tell you. Not a minute less. But what has happened? I give you my word you look as though you had been studying the extradition treaty. What’s gone wrong?”
“I go to Paris tomorrow and I want you to go too.”
To this Mrs. Nevius made no reply unless the click of a fan may be so accounted.
“The Board of the Interocean Canal met today and they want me to go. In fact I have to. The stockholders, in spite of De Lesseps, are all there, and the Board needs more money. How much God only knows, and when I say God only I exaggerate—”
“Don’t be coarse,” Mrs. Carol interjected, but she spoke mechanically, her thoughts afar.
“I have the ticket, a cabine de luxe; it is big enough for three. Rebecca could get such things as you need in shape in no time. And it would be so sweet,” he added.
This conclusion was allowed to pass unnoticed. With a gesture which was habitual to Mrs. Carol when called upon to think quickly, she raised a hand to her forehead. On one finger a great jewel glistened, but not more so than the fingertip. When she lowered it her face was almost apathetic.
“It would be so sweet of you, Hilda.”
Mrs. Nevius dropped her fan, patted a fold of the skirt, and, as though reflecting still, crossed to where he sat.
He was on his feet at once.
“I knew you would!” he cried, and caught her to him.
“How long are you to be gone?”
“Oh,” he answered eagerly, “the time to get there and turn around.”
Mrs. Carol freed herself.
“Dinner has been announced. Let us go in.”
“Yes, and let’s have some champagne. Do you remember the St. Marceau we used to get? Do you remember the little restaurant we went to one night on the other side of the Seine? Do you remember—”
The memories of other days returned, too abundant, too fragrant, too sacred even, for enumeration while the servant was there. But during the progress of the meal there was plenty of animation in that room, many a jest and many a laugh. The jests, however, came from him. Mrs. Carol smiled and nodded, and nodded and smiled, but otherwise her contributions to the gaiety were slight. At last they moved again to the adjoining room. There, when they had got seated, she took his hand in hers.
“Carol, I can’t go.”
Surprise, annoyance too, lifted him from the seat.
“Now wait.” With but a gesture she had him back again. “If you insist I will obey you, but—”
“Obey me, why—”
“But it will be very selfish of you. I am not a bagman’s wife, Carol. I can’t leave New York at a moment’s notice. In spite of your attitude I have some small position in society. I have engagements to keep, duties to which I must attend. I have my friends, my family. What would they all say? But supposing I were to go. Who would look after the house? When I got back it would be in rack and ruin. You’re to be gone but a few weeks. Surely after nearly seven years you can do without me for that space of time. And I would only be in your way. But look at it from a different point. Supposing, as many a woman has, I not only refused to go, but refused to let you. Whereas I am going to do everything to get you off comfortably, and not only that, but I shall be on the dock to welcome you home. Only on one condition though—”
And as he manifested no earthly interest in the condition, as he looked sulky and very cross, she twisted about in such a manner that he was obliged to notice her, and repeated tentatively and seductively:
“Only on one condition though—”
“Well, what condition then?” he finally snarled.
But Mrs. Carol was very patient that evening; very tender. She stroked him much as she might a big baby.
“That you promise, no, but faithfully and honestly promise to be back in six weeks.”
By way of answer Nevius bit his lip.
“And see,” she continued, “I was going to Mrs. Usselex’ tonight. I was going to make you take me too. Yes, whether you liked it or not. But Mrs. Usselex have to do without me. Why, Carol, I wouldn’t leave you tonight, no not to sup with the queen.” She touched a bell.
“Rebecca,” she ordered when the servant appeared. “There was a cab to be here at eleven. Countermand it, and tell Miss Vührer not to wait.”
These commands distributed she turned again to her husband.
A glance was enough to tell her that his annoyance had gone, that presently he would accept the situation, its logic as well, and with some inward approbation of her own prowess she stood manfully to the guns.
“You can do so many little things for me, too, Carol. I want corsets of that woman in the Rue de la Paix. I want gloves from the Louvre and lingerie from Doucet. If you tell the corset woman I want six more like the last she will understand. And you must order them as soon as you get there. Corsets take forever. And the gloves—but I had best make a list. You won’t lose it, will you? Oh, if it were April now how I would jump at the chance. In the winter
