The Price She Paid [8]
available chance to escape becoming a charge upon her anything but eager and generous relatives. She awaited the explosion with serenity. She cared not a flip for Presbury, who was a soft and silly old fool, full of antiquated compliments and so drearily the inferior of Henry Gower, physically and mentally, that even she could appreciate the difference, the descent. She rather enjoyed the prospect of a combat with him, of the end of dissimulating her contempt. She had thought out and had put in arsenal ready for use a variety of sneers, jeers, and insults that suggested themselves to her as she listened and simpered and responded while he was courting.
Had the opportunity offered earlier than the fourth day she would have seized it, but not until that fourth morning was she in just the right mood. She had eaten too much dinner the night before, and had followed it after two hours in a stuffy theater with an indigestible supper. He liked the bedroom windows open at night; she liked them closed. After she fell into a heavy sleep, he slipped out of bed and opened the windows wide--to teach her by the night's happy experience that she was entirely mistaken as to the harmfulness of fresh winter air. The result was that she awakened with a frightful cold and a splitting headache. And as the weather was about to change she had shooting pains like toothache through her toes the instant she thrust them into her shoes. The elderly groom, believing he had a rich bride, was all solicitude and infuriating attention. She waited until he had wrought her to the proper pitch of fury. Then she said--in reply to some remark of his:
``Yes, I shall rely upon you entirely. I want you to take absolute charge of my affairs.''
The tears sprang to his eyes. His weak old mouth, rapidly falling to pieces, twisted and twitched with emotion. ``I'll try to deserve your confidence, darling,'' said he. ``I've had large business experience-- in the way of investing carefully, I mean. I don't think your affairs will suffer in my hands.''
``Oh, I'm sure they'll not trouble you,'' said she in a sweet, sure tone as the pains shot through her feet and her head. ``You'll hardly notice my little mite in your property.'' She pretended to reflect. ``Let me see--there's seven thousand left, but of course half of that is Millie's.''
``It must be very well invested,'' said he. ``Those seven thousand shares must be of the very best.''
``Shares?'' said she, with a gentle little laugh. ``I mean dollars.''
Presbury was about to lift a cup of cafe au lait to his lips. Instead, he turned it over into the platter of eggs and bacon.
``We--Mildred and I,'' pursued his bride, ``were left with only forty-odd thousand between us. Of course, we had to live. So, naturally, there's very little left.''
Presbury was shaking so violently that his head and arms waggled like a jumping-jack's. He wrapped his elegant white fingers about the arms of his chair to steady himself. In a suffocated voice he said: ``Do you mean to say that you have only seven thousand dollars in the world?''
``Only half that,'' corrected she. ``Oh, dear, how my head aches! Less than half that, for there are some debts.''
She was impatient for the explosion; the agony of her feet and head needed outlet and relief. But he disappointed her. That was one of the situations in which one appeals in vain to the resources of language. He shrank and sank back in his chair, his jaw dropped, and he vented a strange, imbecile cackling laugh. It was not an expression of philosophic mirth, of sense of the grotesqueness of an anti-climax. It was not an expression of any emotion whatever. It was simply a signal from a mind temporarily dethroned.
``What are you laughing at?'' she said sharply.
His answer was a repetition of the idiotic sound.
``What's the matter with you?'' demanded she. ``Please close your mouth.''
It was a timely piece of advice; for his upper and false teeth had become partially dislodged and threatened to drop upon the shirt-bosom
Had the opportunity offered earlier than the fourth day she would have seized it, but not until that fourth morning was she in just the right mood. She had eaten too much dinner the night before, and had followed it after two hours in a stuffy theater with an indigestible supper. He liked the bedroom windows open at night; she liked them closed. After she fell into a heavy sleep, he slipped out of bed and opened the windows wide--to teach her by the night's happy experience that she was entirely mistaken as to the harmfulness of fresh winter air. The result was that she awakened with a frightful cold and a splitting headache. And as the weather was about to change she had shooting pains like toothache through her toes the instant she thrust them into her shoes. The elderly groom, believing he had a rich bride, was all solicitude and infuriating attention. She waited until he had wrought her to the proper pitch of fury. Then she said--in reply to some remark of his:
``Yes, I shall rely upon you entirely. I want you to take absolute charge of my affairs.''
The tears sprang to his eyes. His weak old mouth, rapidly falling to pieces, twisted and twitched with emotion. ``I'll try to deserve your confidence, darling,'' said he. ``I've had large business experience-- in the way of investing carefully, I mean. I don't think your affairs will suffer in my hands.''
``Oh, I'm sure they'll not trouble you,'' said she in a sweet, sure tone as the pains shot through her feet and her head. ``You'll hardly notice my little mite in your property.'' She pretended to reflect. ``Let me see--there's seven thousand left, but of course half of that is Millie's.''
``It must be very well invested,'' said he. ``Those seven thousand shares must be of the very best.''
``Shares?'' said she, with a gentle little laugh. ``I mean dollars.''
Presbury was about to lift a cup of cafe au lait to his lips. Instead, he turned it over into the platter of eggs and bacon.
``We--Mildred and I,'' pursued his bride, ``were left with only forty-odd thousand between us. Of course, we had to live. So, naturally, there's very little left.''
Presbury was shaking so violently that his head and arms waggled like a jumping-jack's. He wrapped his elegant white fingers about the arms of his chair to steady himself. In a suffocated voice he said: ``Do you mean to say that you have only seven thousand dollars in the world?''
``Only half that,'' corrected she. ``Oh, dear, how my head aches! Less than half that, for there are some debts.''
She was impatient for the explosion; the agony of her feet and head needed outlet and relief. But he disappointed her. That was one of the situations in which one appeals in vain to the resources of language. He shrank and sank back in his chair, his jaw dropped, and he vented a strange, imbecile cackling laugh. It was not an expression of philosophic mirth, of sense of the grotesqueness of an anti-climax. It was not an expression of any emotion whatever. It was simply a signal from a mind temporarily dethroned.
``What are you laughing at?'' she said sharply.
His answer was a repetition of the idiotic sound.
``What's the matter with you?'' demanded she. ``Please close your mouth.''
It was a timely piece of advice; for his upper and false teeth had become partially dislodged and threatened to drop upon the shirt-bosom