Part 53 (1/2)
”The American man of the more ambitious sort,” he went on, ”either has to live practically if not physically apart from his wife or else has to educate some not too difficult woman to be his wife.”
She understood that. ”You are really going to educate me?” she said, with an arch smile. Now that Norman had her attention, now that she was centering upon him instead of upon herself, she was interested in him, and in what he said, whether she understood it or not, whether it pleased her vanity or wounded it. The intellects of women work to an unsuspected extent only through the s.e.x charm. Their appreciations of books, of art, of men are dependant, often in the most curious indirect ways, upon the fact that the author, the artist, the politician or what not is betrousered. Thus, Dorothy was patient, respectful, attentive, was not offended by Norman's didactic way of giving her the lessons in life. Her smile was happy as well as coquettish, as she asked him to educate her.
He returned her smile. ”That depends,” answered he.
”You're not sure I'm worth the trouble?”
”You may put it that way, if you like. But I'd say, rather, I'm not sure I can spare the time--and you're not sure you care to fit yourself for the place.”
”Oh, but I do!” cried she.
”We'll see--in a few weeks or months,” replied he.
The Burroughs party were rising. Josephine had choice of two ways to the door. She chose the one that took her past Norman and his bride. She advanced, beaming. Norman rose, took her extended hand. Said she:
”So glad to see you.” Then, turning the radiant smile upon Dorothy, ”And is this your wife? Is this the pretty little typewriter girl?”
Dorothy nodded--a charming, ingenuous bend of the head. Norman felt a thrill of pride in her, so beautifully unconscious of the treacherous attempt at insult. It particularly delighted him that she had not made the mistake of rising to return Josephine's greeting but had remained seated. Surely this wife of his had the right instincts that never fail to cause right manners. For Josephine's benefit, he gazed down at Dorothy with the proudest, fondest eyes. ”Yes--this is she,” said he.
”Can you blame me?”
Josephine paled and winced visibly, as if the blow she had aimed at him had, after glancing off harmlessly, returned to crush her. She touched Dorothy's proffered hand, murmured a few stammering phrases of vague compliment, rejoined her friends. Said Dorothy, when she and Norman were settled again:
”I shall never like her. Nor she me.”
”But you do like this cheese? Waiter, another bottle of that same.”
”Why did she put you in such a good humor?” inquired his wife.
”It wasn't she. It was you!” replied he. But he refused to explain.
XXI
Galloway accepted Norman's terms. He would probably have accepted terms far less easy. But Norman as yet knew with the thoroughness which must precede intelligent plan and action only the legal side of financial operations; he had been as indifferent to the commercial side as a pilot to the value of the cargo in the s.h.i.+p he engages to steer clear of shoals and rocks. So with the prudence of the sagacious man's audacities he contented himself with a share of this first venture that would simply make a comfortable foundation for the fortune he purposed to build. As the venture could not fail outright, even should Galloway die, he rented a largish place at Hempstead, with the privilege of purchase, and installed his wife and himself with a dozen servants and a housekeeper.
”This housekeeper, this Mrs. Lowell,” said he to Dorothy, ”is a good enough person as housekeepers go. But you will have to look sharply after her.”
Dorothy seemed to fade and shrink within herself, which was her way of confessing lack of courage and fitness to face a situation: ”I don't know anything about those things,” she confessed.
”I understand perfectly,” said he. ”But you learned something at the place in Jersey City--quite enough for the start. Really, all you need to know just now is whether the place is clean or not, and whether the food comes on the table in proper condition. The rest you'll pick up gradually.”
”I hope so,” said she, looking doubtful and helpless; these new magnitudes were appalling, especially now that she was beginning to get a point of view upon life.
”At any rate, don't bother me for these few next months,” said he. ”I'm going to be very busy--shall leave early in the morning and not be back until near dinner time--if I come at all. No, you'll not be annoyed by me. You'll be absolute mistress of your time.”
She tried to look as if this contented her. But he could not have failed to see how dissatisfied and disquieted she really was. He had the best of reasons for thinking that she was living under the same roof with him only because she preferred the roof he could provide to such a one as she could provide for herself whether by her own earnings or by marrying a man more to her liking personally. Yet here she was, piqued and depressed because of his indifference--because he was not thrusting upon her gallantries she would tolerate only through prudence!
”You will be lonely at times, I'm afraid,” said he. ”But I can't provide friends or even acquaintances for you for several months--until my affairs are in better order and my sister and her husband come back from Europe.”
”Oh, I shan't be lonely,” cried she. ”I've never cared for people.”