a pretty woman his wife was. Her dark, bright eyes, her soft dusky hair, and her charming coloring made her almost a beauty. But, like her mother, her attractiveness was lessened by an expression of perversity, a hint of readiness to take offense.
“No; I’m not staying at home—but what does it matter to you where I’m going? As I said, we have no interests in common—and your inquiries are mere politeness!”
“At least, let us keep politeness, Madeleine.”
Barham’s voice was a bit wistful, and Madeleine might have responded to that note in it, but Mrs. Selden took it up.
“Are you implying that Madeleine is lacking in politeness? Have a care, Andrew! I won’t stand everything!”
Now Andrew Barham was not a weak-spirited man, though it might seem so. But his innate courtesy to women and his dread of a scene kept him from any show of righteous indignation at this speech.
Fortunately, Madeleine rose from the table, preventing any further tilting.
“No,” she said, suddenly smiling prettily, “I won’t tell you where I’m going—yes, I will, I’m going to Mrs. Gardner’s. Rest assured it’s a place you wouldn’t enjoy, so I shan’t invite you to go along. Where are you going? To the Club?”
“Yes; maybe to a theater afterward—maybe not.”
He looked a bit gloomy as he stood in the hall, lighting a cigarette, and nodding to the man to bring his hat.
“You’re extremely good-looking, Drew—but I get so tired of looking at you,” his wife said, with a bored little smile. “Perhaps when I see you next, you’ll look gayer,” and with a mere mockery of throwing a kiss to him, she ran off upstairs to her own rooms.
Mrs. Selden never spent her evenings with “the children.”
