Part 91

"No, my dear," resumed he, as he prepared to descend for dinner, "let's have a peaceful, cheerful married life, with no crazy excitements. Let's hang on to what we've got, and take no unnecessary risks." He patted her on the shoulder. "Isn't that sensible?"

She looked at him with serious, appealing eyes. "You are sure you aren't unhappy?"

It was amusing to him--though he concealed it--to see how tenaciously her feminine egotism held to the idea that she was the important person. And, when women of experience thus deluded themselves, it was not at all strange that this girl should be unable to grasp the essential truth as to the relations of men and women--that, while a woman who makes her sex her profession must give to a man, to some man, a dominant place in her life, a man need give a woman--at least, any one woman--little or no place. But he would not wantonly wound her harmless vanity. "Don't worry about me, please," said he in the kindest, friendliest way. "I am telling you the truth."

And they descended to the dining room. Usually he was preoccupied and she did most of the talking--not a difficult matter for her, as she was one of those who by nature have much to say, who talk on and on, giving lively, pleasant recitals of commonplace daily happenings. That evening it was her turn to be abstracted, or, at least, silent. He talked volubly, torrentially, like a man of teeming mind in the highest spirits. And he was in high spirits. The Galloway enterprise had developed into a huge success; also, it did not lessen his sense of the pleasantness of life to have learned that his wife was feeling about as well disposed toward him as he cared to have her feel, had come round to that state of mind which he, as a practical man, wise in the art of life, regarded as ideal for a wife.

A successful man, with a quiet and comfortable home, well enough looked after by an agreeable wife, exceeding good to look at and interested only in her home and her husband--what more could a man ask?

* * * * *

What more could a man ask? Only one thing more--a baby. The months soon passed and that rounding out of the home side of his life was consummated with no mishap. The baby was a girl, which contented him and delighted Dorothy. He wished it to be named after her, she preferred his sister's name--Ursula. It was Ursula who decided the question. "She looks like you, Fred," she declared, after an earnest scanning of the weird little face. "Why not call her Frederica?"

Norman thought this clumsy, but Dorothy instantly assented--and the baby was duly christened Frederica.

Perhaps it was because he was having less pressing business in town, but whatever the reason, he began to stay at home more--surprisingly more. And, being at home, he naturally fell into the habit of fussing with the baby, he having the temperament that compels a man to be always at something, and the baby being convenient and in the nature of a curiosity. Ursula, who was stopping in the house, did not try to conceal her amazement at this extraordinary development of her brother's character.

Said she: "I never before knew you to take the slightest interest in a child."

Said he: "I never before saw a child worth taking the slightest interest in."

"Oh, well," said Ursula, "it won't last. You'll soon grow tired of your plaything."

"Perhaps you're right," said Norman. "I hope you're wrong." He reflected, added: "In fact, I'm almost certain you're wrong. I'm too selfish to let myself lose such a pleasure. If you had observed my life closely, you'd have discovered that I have never given up a single thing I found a source of pleasure. That is good sense. That is why the superior sort of men and women retain something of the boy and the girl all their lives. I still like a lot of the games I played as a boy. For some years I've had no chance to indulge in them. I'll be glad when Rica is old enough to give me the chance again."

She was much amused. "Who'd have suspected that you were a born father!"

"Not I, for one," confessed he. "We never know what there is in us until circumstances bring it out."

"A devoted father and a doting husband," pursued Ursula. "I must say I rather sympathize with you as a doting husband. Of course, I, a woman, can't see her as you do. I can't imagine a man--especially a man of your sort--going stark mad about a mere woman. But, as women go, I'll admit she is a good specimen. Not the marvel of intelligence and complex character you imagine, but still a good specimen. And physically--" She laughed--"That's what caught you. That's what holds you--and will hold you as long as it lasts."

"Was there ever a woman who didn't think that?--and didn't like to think it, though I believe many of them make strong pretense at scorning the physical." Fred was regarding his sister with a quizzical expression. "You approve of her?" he said.

"More than I'd have thought possible. And after I've taken her about in the world a while she'll be perfect."

"No doubt," said Norman. "But, alas, she'll never be perfect. For, you're not going to take her about."

"So she says when I talk of it to her," replied Ursula. "But I know you'll insist. You needn't be uneasy as to how she'll be received."

"I'm not," said Norman dryly.

"You've got back all you lost--and more. How we Americans do worship success!"

"Don't suggest to Dorothy anything further about society," said Norman. "I've no time or taste for it, and I don't wish to be annoyed by intrusions into my home."

"But you'll not be satisfied always with just her," urged his sister. "Besides, you've got a position to maintain."

Norman's smile was cynically patient. "I want my home and I want my career," said he. "And I don't want any society nonsense. I had the good luck to marry a woman who knows and cares nothing about it. I don't purpose to give up the greatest advantage of my marriage."

Ursula was astounded. She knew the meaning of his various tones and manners, and his way of rejecting her plans for Dorothy--and, incidentally, for her own amusement--convinced her that he was through and through in earnest. "It will be dreadfully lonesome for her, Fred," she pleaded.

"We'll wait till that trouble faces us," replied he, not a bit impressed. "And don't forget--not a word of temptation to her from you." This with an expression that warned her how well he knew her indirect ways of accomplishing what she could not gain directly.

"Oh, I shan't interfere," said she in a tone that made it a binding promise. "But you can't expect me to sympathize with your plans for an old-fashioned domestic life."