of the table, his whole being waiting and ready. She withdrew involuntarily from the challenge.
“Let’s talk about something else,” she said.
He was silent then and fell to his eggs and bacon, until she broke the continuing silence, her voice casual. “Must you work today or have you time for a horseback ride?”
“You ride?”
“I’ve taken it up again. I used to ride a great deal as a girl, but my husband didn’t care for it.”
“He didn’t appreciate you.” His voice was accusing, his mouth sulky.
“In his way he did—very much,” she insisted.
“Then he didn’t understand you.”
She laughed. “Oh, come, that’s too trite—husbands that don’t understand wives, wives that don’t understand husbands! You haven’t told me about the girl who wants to marry you. Is she interested in your work?”
“She wouldn’t know what I was talking about.”
“You remind me of my son, Tony. He married a charming, stupid girl. And he’s quite intelligent! I suggested that she was perhaps a little stupid—only I didn’t use the word—when he told me he wanted to marry her, and he replied that he didn’t want a damned intelligent woman to come home to at night.”
She laughed once more but he did not laugh with her. He looked at her gravely, scrambled egg poised on his fork. “He’s a damned fool, I’d say!”
“Oh, no, Tony’s not a fool. Just had enough of his mother! I felt quite pleased—an only son not attached to his mother? That’s success for the mother these days.”
He ate the egg, reflecting. “I wish you wouldn’t talk about husbands and wives, sons and mothers,” he said peevishly.
“Only about you and the girl—” she said.
“Not even about her. All right, let’s go riding now. I have an appointment this afternoon.” He rose and pushed his chair in as he spoke.
…Riding, she thought remorsefully, was not a good idea after all. He rode superbly, his slender figure erect and elegant, the reins loose in his hand and yet controlled. Then there was the weather, a warm bright day, sunlight dappled through the trees on either side of the trail, the autumn-tinted hills rolling away to the horizon. She knew she looked well in her riding clothes and at the thought was severe with herself again. Had there been some secret impulse of coquetry which she had not recognized this morning at the breakfast table? No, she had simply been happy, a bright morning, a comfortable, even beautiful house, a pleasant companion. And surely there was no danger in admiring this companion, young and handsome, oh, very young and very handsome!
“Why are you smiling at me?” he demanded.
“Secret thought,” she said. “Come, let’s gallop!”
She touched her whip to her horse’s flank and led the way down the trail and into the valley. And flying along under the cloudless sky, she thought of the house on the cliff, nonexistent and yet as real to her imagination as though it stood there. Should she tell him of that house? Yield to the impulse to reveal herself to him? No! The decision cut clean across the impulse. She would not reveal herself—not yet. She slowed her horse to a canter and glanced at her wristwatch.
“It’s noon—you have an appointment.”
“Why do you try to escape me?” he cried.
“Do I?” she asked, and then, avoiding his eyes, she touched the whip to her horse’s flank and broke again into a gallop.
…“You do try to escape me, you know,” he said an hour later. He had declined luncheon, declaring that he had no time and now he was taking his leave. They stood at the door and he looted down into her upturned face.
She met his gaze frankly. “I don’t try to escape you—it’s just that I—”
She broke off, he waited.
“You’ll be late,” she said.
“I’ll be late,” he agreed, and waited.
“I don’t know how to answer you,” she said at last.
“Ah, that’s better. So next time we’ll find out why you can’t answer me.”
He
“Let’s talk about something else,” she said.
He was silent then and fell to his eggs and bacon, until she broke the continuing silence, her voice casual. “Must you work today or have you time for a horseback ride?”
“You ride?”
“I’ve taken it up again. I used to ride a great deal as a girl, but my husband didn’t care for it.”
“He didn’t appreciate you.” His voice was accusing, his mouth sulky.
“In his way he did—very much,” she insisted.
“Then he didn’t understand you.”
She laughed. “Oh, come, that’s too trite—husbands that don’t understand wives, wives that don’t understand husbands! You haven’t told me about the girl who wants to marry you. Is she interested in your work?”
“She wouldn’t know what I was talking about.”
“You remind me of my son, Tony. He married a charming, stupid girl. And he’s quite intelligent! I suggested that she was perhaps a little stupid—only I didn’t use the word—when he told me he wanted to marry her, and he replied that he didn’t want a damned intelligent woman to come home to at night.”
She laughed once more but he did not laugh with her. He looked at her gravely, scrambled egg poised on his fork. “He’s a damned fool, I’d say!”
“Oh, no, Tony’s not a fool. Just had enough of his mother! I felt quite pleased—an only son not attached to his mother? That’s success for the mother these days.”
He ate the egg, reflecting. “I wish you wouldn’t talk about husbands and wives, sons and mothers,” he said peevishly.
“Only about you and the girl—” she said.
“Not even about her. All right, let’s go riding now. I have an appointment this afternoon.” He rose and pushed his chair in as he spoke.
…Riding, she thought remorsefully, was not a good idea after all. He rode superbly, his slender figure erect and elegant, the reins loose in his hand and yet controlled. Then there was the weather, a warm bright day, sunlight dappled through the trees on either side of the trail, the autumn-tinted hills rolling away to the horizon. She knew she looked well in her riding clothes and at the thought was severe with herself again. Had there been some secret impulse of coquetry which she had not recognized this morning at the breakfast table? No, she had simply been happy, a bright morning, a comfortable, even beautiful house, a pleasant companion. And surely there was no danger in admiring this companion, young and handsome, oh, very young and very handsome!
“Why are you smiling at me?” he demanded.
“Secret thought,” she said. “Come, let’s gallop!”
She touched her whip to her horse’s flank and led the way down the trail and into the valley. And flying along under the cloudless sky, she thought of the house on the cliff, nonexistent and yet as real to her imagination as though it stood there. Should she tell him of that house? Yield to the impulse to reveal herself to him? No! The decision cut clean across the impulse. She would not reveal herself—not yet. She slowed her horse to a canter and glanced at her wristwatch.
“It’s noon—you have an appointment.”
“Why do you try to escape me?” he cried.
“Do I?” she asked, and then, avoiding his eyes, she touched the whip to her horse’s flank and broke again into a gallop.
…“You do try to escape me, you know,” he said an hour later. He had declined luncheon, declaring that he had no time and now he was taking his leave. They stood at the door and he looted down into her upturned face.
She met his gaze frankly. “I don’t try to escape you—it’s just that I—”
She broke off, he waited.
“You’ll be late,” she said.
“I’ll be late,” he agreed, and waited.
“I don’t know how to answer you,” she said at last.
“Ah, that’s better. So next time we’ll find out why you can’t answer me.”
He
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