Part 42 (1/2)

”I am only reminding you of your own agreement,” stubbornly. ”I want to be of use.”

”Very selfish of you. Can't you think of someone else once in a while?”

”Selfish? Because I want to help?”

”Certainly. I wonder you don't see it! Think of the mornings I've put in on this dashed book just because you wanted to help. I have to be polite, haven't I?--up to a point. But when you begin to blame me for doing poorly what I do not want to do at all I begin to see that my self-sacrifice is not appreciated.”

”You are talking nonsense.”

”Perhaps I am. But it was you who started it. When you said I did not need you, you said a very nonsensical thing. And a very unkind thing, too. A man does not like to talk of--his need. But, now that we have come to just this point, let us have it out. Surely our partners.h.i.+p was not quite as narrow as you suggest? The book is a detail. It is L. part of life which will fit in somewhere--an important part in its right place--but it isn't the whole pattern.” He smiled whimsically. ”Do not think of me as just an animated book, my dear--if you can help it. And remember, no matter how we choose to interpret our marriage, you are my wife. And my very good comrade. The one thing which could ever change my need of you is your greater need of--of someone else.”

The last words were casual enough but the look which accompanied them was keen, and a sense of relief rose gratefully in the professor as no sign of disturbance appeared upon the thoughtful face of his hearer.

”Is Benis here, my dear?” asked Aunt Caroline opening the door. ”Oh yes, I see that he is. Benis, you are wanted on the 'phone. If you would take my advice, which you never do, you would have an extension placed in this room. Then you could always just answer and save Olive a great deal of bother. Not that I think maids ought to mind being bothered. They never did in my time. But it would be quite simple for you, when you are writing here, to attend to the 'phone. Perhaps if the butcher heard a man's voice occasionally he might be more respectful. I do not expect much of tradespeople, as you know, but if the butcher--”

”Is it the butcher who wishes to speak to me, Aunt?”

”Good gracious, no. It's long distance. Why don't you hurry? ... Men have no idea of the value of time,” she added as the professor vanished. ”My dear you must not let Benis overwork you. He doesn't intend to be unkind, but men never think.”

CHAPTER XXIX

Desire turned back to her papers as the door closed. But her manner was no longer brisk and business-like. There was a small, hot lump in her throat.

”It isn't fair,” she thought pa.s.sionately. ”It's all very well to talk, but it does make a difference--it does. If I'm not his secretary what am I?” A hot blush crimsoned her white skin and she stamped her foot.

”I'm not his wife. I'm not! I'm not!” she said defiantly.

There was no one to contradict her. Even Yorick was silent. And, as contradiction is really necessary to belligerency, some of the fire died out of her stormy eyes. But it flared again as thought flung thought upon the embers.

”Wife!” How dared he use the word? And in that tone! A word that meant nothing to him. Nothing, save a cold, calm statement of claim....

Not that she wanted it to mean anything else. Had she not, herself, arranged a most satisfactory basis of coolness and calmness? (Reason insisted upon reminding her of this.) And a strict recognition of this basis was precisely what she wanted, of course. Only she wanted it as a secretary and not as a--not as anything else.

”What's in a word?” asked Reason mildly. ”Words mean only what you mean by them. Wife or secretary, if they mean the same--”

Desire flung her note-books viciously into a drawer and banged it shut.

Why did things insist upon changing anyway? She had been content--well, almost. She had not asked for more than she had. Why, then, should a cross-grained fate insist upon her getting less? Since yesterday she had not troubled even about Mary. Her self-ridicule at the absurdity of her mistake regarding Dr. Rogers' pretty nurse had had a salutary effect. And now--just when everything promised so well (self-pity began to cool the hot lump in her throat). And just when she had made up her mind that, however small her portion of her husband's thought might be, it would be enough--well, almost enough--

A screech from Yorick made her start nervously.

”Cats!” said Yorick. ”Oh the devil--cats!”

Desire laughed and firmly dislodged Aunt Caroline's big Maltese cat from its place of vantage on the window-sill. The laughter dissolved the last of the troublesome lump and she began to feel better. After all, the book-weariness of which Benis had spoken would probably be a pa.s.sing phase. If she allowed herself to go on creating mountains out of molehills she would soon have a whole range upon her hands.

And he had said he needed her!

Mechanically, she began to straighten the desk, restoring the professor's notes to their proper places. She was feeling almost sanguine again when her hand fell upon the photograph.

We say ”the” photograph because, of all photographs in the world, this one was the one most fatal to Desire's new content. She picked it up casually. Photographs have no proper place amongst notes of research.

Desire, frowning her secretarial frown, lifted the intruder to remove it and, lifting, naturally looked at it. Having looked, she continued looking.