``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.``Imean 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 gayly showing between the lapels of his dark-blue silk house-coat.He slowly closed his mouth, moving his teeth back into place with his tongue--a gesture that made her face twitch with rage and disgust.
``Seven thousand dollars,'' he mumbled dazedly.
``I said less than half that,'' retorted she sharply.
``And I--thought you were--rich.''
A peculiar rolling of the eyes and twisting of the lips gave her the idea that he was about to vent that repulsive sound again.``Don't you laugh!'' she cried.
``I can't bear your laugh--even at its best.''
Suddenly he galvanized into fury.``This is an outrage!'' he cried, waving his useless-looking white fists.
``You have swindled me--SWINDLED me!''
Her head stopped aching.The pains in her feet either ceased or she forgot them.In a suspiciously calm voice she said: ``What do you mean?''
``I mean that you are a swindler!'' he shouted, banging one fist on the table and waving the other.
She acted as though his meaning were just dawning upon her.``Do you mean,'' said she tranquilly, ``that you married me for money?''
``I mean that I thought you a substantial woman, and that I find you are an adventuress.''
``Did you think,'' inquired she, ``that any woman who had money would marry YOU?'' She laughed very quietly.``You ARE a fool!''
He sat back to look at her.This mode of combat in such circumstances puzzled him.
``I knew that you were rich,'' she went on, ``or you would not have dared offer yourself to me.All my friends were amazed at my stooping to accept you.
Your father was an Irish Tammany contractor, wasn't he?--a sort of criminal? But I simply had to marry.
So I gave you my family and position and name in exchange for your wealth--a good bargain for you, but a poor one for me.''
These references to HIS wealth were most disconcerting, especially as they were accompanied by remarks about his origin, of which he was so ashamed that he had changed the spelling of his name in the effort to clear himself of it.However, some retort was imperative.
He looked at her and said:
``Swindler and adventuress!''
``Don't repeat that lie,'' said she.``You are the adventurer--despite the fact that you are very rich.''
``Don't say that again,'' cried he.``I never said or pretended I was rich.I have about five thousand a year--and you'll not get a cent of it, madam!''
She knew his income, but no one would have suspected it from her expression of horror.``What!'' she gasped.``You dared to marry ME when you were a--beggar! Me--the widow of Henry Gower! You impudent old wreck! Why, you haven't enough to pay my servants.What are we to live on, pray?''
``I don't know what YOU'LL live on,'' replied he.
``_I_ shall live as I always have.''
``A beggar!'' she exclaimed.``I--married to a beggar.'' She burst into tears.``How men take advantage of a woman alone! If my son had been near me! But there's surely some law to protect me.Yes, I'm sure there is.Oh, I'll punish you for having deceived me.'' Her eyes dried as she looked at him.
``How dare you sit there? How dare you face me, you miserable fraud!''
Early in her acquaintance with him she had discovered that determining factors in his character were sensitiveness about his origin and sensitiveness about his social position.On this knowledge of his weaknesses was securely based her confidence that she could act as she pleased toward him.To ease her pains she proceeded to pour out her private opinion of him--all the disagreeable things, all the insults she had been storing up.
She watched him as only a woman can watch a man.
She saw that his rage was not dangerous, that she was forcing him into a position where fear of her revenging herself by disgracing him would overcome anger at the collapse of his fatuous dreams of wealth.She did not despise him the more deeply for sitting there, for not flying from the room or trying to kill her or somehow compelling her to check that flow of insult.She already despised him utterly; also, she attached small importance to self-respect, having no knowledge of what that quality really is.
When she grew tired, she became quiet.They sat there a long time in silence.At last he ran up the white flag of abject surrender by saying:
``What'll we live on--that's what I'd like to know?''
