Page:The Breath of Scandal (1922).djvu/274

 separation from him. And how she had shown it for him, and only him, to see!

"You're mine!" he said to himself, with deep stirrings, as he glanced across at her; and he admired her more that never once he caught her glancing at him. "Wasting your time," he continued to himself with profound satisfaction, as he followed the turn of other men's eyes to her. "She's mine!"

After a while she arose and, moving in just the way he knew she would—with a slight toss of her head, her hand held a little lifted at her side, with more life in her stride than its seeming slowness disclosed, with other little characteristics which cried her to him—she left the room. And there he had to sit, breathing smoke of strong cigars, with cheese and hard, half-blackened crackers before him and listening to figures and estimates of costs and taxes.

About half-past nine, when he succeeded in getting away from the men, he did not go home; nor did he go to a club. He wandered into another hotel where he was not likely to encounter even an acquaintance, and he sat down, sullen from his loneliness and his desire. He lit a cigar and almost instantly threw it away and arose and sat in another room, stirring himself to review the disregard and neglect shown him by his wife. Now she was gone away again, satisfied—more than satisfied; indeed, she preferred to be far off, spending money he earned and without considering any duty she owed him.

Of course, he never demanded duty from her; he always—thank God—had been too proud for that. If she did not want to remain close to him, let her go! Obviously, it meant that she did not love him; any woman who loved a man would never dream of desert-