I was roused by someone walking across the roof, the cracking of tin
under feet, and a comfortable and companionable odor of tobacco. I
moved a very little, and then I saw that it was a man--the height and
erectness told me which man. And just at that instant he saw me.
"Good Lord!" he ejaculated, and throwing his cigar away he came across
quickly. "Why, Mrs. Wilson, what in the world are you doing here? I
thought--they said--"
"That I was sulking again?" I finished disagreeably. "Perhaps I am. In
fact, I'm quite sure of it."
"You are not," he said severely. "You have been asleep in a February
night, in the open air, with less clothing on than I wear in the
tropics."
I had got up by this time, refusing his help, and because my feet were
numb, I sat down on the parapet for a moment. Oh, I knew what I looked
like--one of those "Valley-of-the-Nile-After-a-Flood" pictures.
"There is one thing about you that is comforting," I sniffed. "You said
precisely the same thing to me at three o'clock this morning. You never
startle me by saying anything unexpected."
He took a step toward me, and even in the dusk I could see that he was
looking down at me oddly. All my bravado faded away and there was a
queerish ringing in my ears.
"I would like to!" he said tensely. "I would like, this minute--I'm
a fool, Mrs. Wilson," he finished miserably. "I ought to be drawn and
quartered, but when I see you like this I--I get crazy. If you say the
word, I'll--I'll go down and--" He clenched his fist.
It was reprehensible, of course; he saw that in an instant, for he shut
his teeth over something that sounded very fierce, and strode away from
me, to stand looking out over the river, with his hands thrust in his
pockets. Of course the thing I should have done was to ignore what he
had said altogether, but he was so uncomfortable, so chastened, that,
feline, feminine, whatever the instinct is, I could not let him go. I
had been so wretched myself.
"What is it you would like to say?" I called over to him. He did not
speak. "Would you tell me that I am a silly child for pouting?" No
reply; he struck a match. "Or would you preach a nice little sermon
about people--about women--loving their husbands?"
He grunted savagely under his breath.
"Be quite honest," I pursued relentlessly. "Say that we are a lot
of barbarians, say that because my--because Jimmy treats me
outrageously--oh, he does; any one can see that--and because I loathe
him--and any one can tell that--why don't you say you are shocked to
the depths?" I was a little shocked myself by that time, but I couldn't
stop, having started.