He was a little too confident, a trifle too easy to Nina.
"Has the handle of my suitcase been repaired yet?" he asked. He was
lighting a cigarette at the time.
"Yes. Why?"
"I'll have to run over to New York to-morrow. I wanted Joe to go alone,
but he thinks he needs me." Joe was his partner. "Oh. So Joe's going?"
"That's what I said."
She was silent. Joe's going was clever of him. It gave authenticity to
his business, and it kept her at home.
"How long shall you be gone?"
"Only a day or two." He could not entirely keep the relief out of his
voice. It had been easy, incredibly easy. He might have done it a month
ago. And he had told the truth; Joe was going.
"I'll pack to-night, and take my suitcase in with me in the morning."
"If you'll get your things out I'll pack them." She was still thinking,
but her tone was indifferent. "You won't want your dress clothes, of
course."
"I'd better have a dinner suit."
She looked at him then, with a half contemptuous smile. "Yes," she said
slowly. "I suppose you will. You'll be going to the theater."
He glanced away.
"Possibly. But we'll be rushing to get through. There's a lot to do.
Amazing how business piles up when you find you're going anywhere. There
won't be much time to play."
She sat before the mirror in her small dressing-room that night,
ostensibly preparing for bed but actually taking stock of her situation.
She had done all she could, had been faithful and loyal, had made
his home attractive, had catered to his tastes and tried to like his
friends, had met his needs and responded to them. And now, this. She was
bewildered and frightened. How did women hold their husbands?
She found him in bed and unmistakably asleep when she went into the
bedroom. Man-like, having got his way, he was not troubled by doubts or
introspection. It was done.
He was lying on his back, with his mouth open. She felt a sudden and
violent repugnance to getting into the bed beside him. Sometime in the
night he would turn over and throwing his arm about her, hold her close
in his sleep; and it would be purely automatic, the mechanical result of
habit.
She lay on the edge of the bed and thought things over.
He had his good qualities. He was kind and affectionate to her family.
He had been wonderful when Jim died, and he loved Elizabeth dearly. He
was generous and open-handed. He was handsome, too, in a big, heavy way.