If you are indifferent to her
welfare, then all I can say is that you should not have married her.
You appear to think otherwise. Good afternoon."
He stalked out of the studio, leaving Kirk uncomfortably conscious that
he had had the worst of the argument. Bailey had been officious, no
doubt, and his pompous mode of expression was not soothing, but there
was no doubt that he had had right on his side.
Marrying Ruth did not involve obligations. He had never considered her
in that light, but perhaps she was a girl who had to be protected from
herself. She was certainly impulsive. Bailey had been right there, if
nowhere else.
Who was this fellow Milbank who had sprung suddenly from nowhere into
the position of a menace? What were Ruth's feelings toward him? Kirk
threw his mind back to the dinner-party at Bailey's and tried to place
him.
Was it the man--yes, he had it now. It was the man with the wave of
hair over his forehead, the fellow who looked like a poet. Memory came
to him with a rush. He recalled his instinctive dislike for the fellow.
So that was Milbank, was it? He got up and put away his brushes. There
would be no more work for him that afternoon.
He walked slowly home. The heat of the day had grown steadily more
oppressive. It was one of those airless, stifling afternoons which
afflict New York in the summer.
Pages:
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256