And a husband who . . . Well, you'll have
to take a six months' course in loafing, young woman.
And at the end of that time, if you are still determined
to work, can't you pick out something easier--like taking
in scrubbing, for instance?"
I managed a feeble smile, wishing that he would go
away quickly, so that I might sleep. He seemed to divine
my thoughts, for he disappeared into the corridor, taking
Norah with him. Their voices, low-pitched and carefully
guarded, could be heard as they conversed outside my
door.
Norah was telling him the whole miserable business.
I wished, savagely, that she would let me tell it, if it
must be told. How could she paint the fascination of the
man who was my husband? She had never known the charm of
him as I had known it in those few brief months before
our marriage. She had never felt the caress of his
voice, or the magnetism of his strange, smoldering eyes
glowing across the smoke-dimmed city room as I had felt
them fixed on me. No one had ever known what he had
meant to the girl of twenty, with her brain full of
unspoken dreams--dreams which were all to become glorious
realities in that wonder-place, New York.
How he had fired my country-girl imagination! He had
been the most brilliant writer on the big, brilliant
sheet--and the most dissolute.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25