It was for L3,000--a dividend from something--a
coal mine, I think. And the week before you had another--"
Her husband's eyes shed lightnings.
"I'll not have you prying into my affairs!" he said violently. "All I
have is wanted--and more."
"And nothing of course--to give _me_--your wife!--for any comforts or
pleasures! That never enters into your head!"
Her voice came thickly already. Her chest began to heave.
"There now--crying again!" said Melrose, turning on his heel. "Can't you
sometimes thank your stars you're not starving in Florence, and just put
up with things a little?"
Netta restrained herself.
"So I would"--she said, choking--"if--"
"If what--"
For all answer, she turned and hurried away toward the hall. Melrose
looked after her with what appeared like exasperation, then suddenly
recaptured himself, smoothed his brow, and, returning to the study, gave
himself with unruffled zest and composure to the task of unpacking the
Boule clock.
Netta repaired to the drawing-room, and threw herself on to the
uncomfortable sofa, struggling with her tears. For about a fortnight
after her marriage she had imagined herself in love with Melrose; then
when the personal illusion was gone, the illusion of position and wealth
persisted. He might be queer, and behave queerly in Italy. But when they
returned to England she would find herself the wife of a rich English
gentleman, and the gingerbread would once more be gilt.
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