Part 8 (1/2)

”Well,” said Hendricks as they started homeward, ”what did you persuade him to do, Eunice? Give a parlor exhibition for you?”

”The boy guessed nearly right the very first time!” cried Eunice, gleefully; ”it was all a fake, and he's coming to our house Sunday afternoon to tell how he did it. It's all coming out in the paper on Monday.”

”My good land!” and Aunt Abby sank back in her seat, utterly disgusted.

CHAPTER IV

THE EMBURYS

”And that's my last word on the subject.”

Embury lighted one cigarette from the stub of another, and deposited the stub in the ash-tray at his elbow. It was Sunday afternoon, and the peculiar relaxedness of that day of rest and gladness had somewhat worn on the nerves of both Sanford and Eunice.

Aunt Abby was napping, and it was too early yet to look for their expected visitor, Hanlon.

Eunice had been once again endeavoring to persuade her husband to give her an allowance--a stated sum, however small, that she might depend upon regularly. The Emburys fulfilled every requirement of the condition known as ”happily married” save for this one item. They were congenial, affectionate, good-natured, and quite ready to make allowances for each other's idiosyncrasies or whims.

With this one exception. Eunice found it intolerable to be cramped and pinched for small amounts of ready cash, when her husband was a rich man. Nor was Embury mean, or even economical of nature. He was more than willing that his wife should have all the extravagant luxuries she desired. He was entirely ready to pay any and all bills that she might contract. Never had he chided her for buying expensive or unnecessary finery--even more, he had always admired her taste and shown pleasure at her purchases. He was proud of her beauty and willing it should be adorned. He was proud of her grace and charm and willing that the household appointments should provide an appropriate setting for her hospitality. They were both fond of entertaining and never was there a word of protest from him as to the amounts charged by florists and caterers.

And yet, by reason of some crank, crotchet or perverse notion, Embury was unwilling to give his wife what is known as ”pin money.”

”Buy your pins at the best jewelers',” he would laugh, ”and send the bills to me; buy your hats and gowns from the Frenchiest shops--you can get credit anywhere on my name--Good Lord! Tiger, what more can a woman want?”

Nor would he agree to her oft-repeated explanations that there were a thousand and one occasions when some money was an absolute necessity.

Or, if persuaded, he gave her a small amount and expected it to last indefinitely.

It is difficult to know just what was the reason for this att.i.tude.

Sanford Embury was not a miser. He was not penurious or stingy. He subscribed liberally to charities, many of them unknown to the public, or even to his wife, but some trick of nature, some twist in his brain, made this peculiarity of his persistent and ineradicable.

Now, Eunice Embury was possessed of a quick, sometimes ungovernable temper. It was because of this that her husband called her Tiger. And also, as he declared, because her beautiful, lithe grace was suggestive of ”the fearful symmetry” of the forest tribe.

She had tried honestly to control her quick anger, but it would now and then a.s.sert itself in spite of her, and Embury delighted to liken her to Katherine, and declared that he must tame her as Petruchio tamed his shrew.

This annoyed Eunice far more than she let him know, for she was well aware that if he thought it teased her, he would more frequently try Petruchio's methods.

So, when she flew into a rage, and he countered with a fiercer anger, she knew he was a.s.suming it purposely, and she usually quieted down, as the better part of valor.

On this particular occasion Eunice had taken advantage of a quiet, pleasant tete-a-tete to bring up the subject.

Embury had heard her pleading, not unkindly, but with a bored air, and had finally remarked, as she paused in her arguments, ”I refuse, Eunice, to give you a stated allowance. If you haven't sufficient confidence in your husband's generosity to trust him to give you all you want or need, and even more than that, then you are ungrateful for what I have given you. And that's my last word on the subject.”

The rank injustice of this was like iron entering her soul. She knew his speech was illogical, unfair and even absurd, but she knew no words of hers could make him see it so.

And in utter exasperation at her own impotence, she flung her self-control to the winds, and let go of her temper.

”Well, it isn't my last word on the subject!” she cried. ”I have something further to say!”

”That is your woman's privilege,” and Embury smiled irritatingly at her.