“Yours is the Eve’s part of the compact.”
“As a matter of fact, you seem to care more for a shilling volume of essays than for my company.”
“No woman should allow a library to exist in her house.”
“My dear girl, you are surely not jealous of Schopenhauer?”
“Perhaps it is as well; he is somewhat caustic.”
The wife gathered her gown and prepared to depart to the drawing-room. Gabriel opened the door for her. She gave him a look as she went out.
“I shall expect you in half an hour for billiards.”
“I will attempt to be punctual. Tell James to serve my coffee in the library.”
Now whether it was pure perversity on Gabriel’s part, or the romantic mesmerism of the work on which he was engaged, an honest eighty minutes had passed before he appeared in the red-and-white salon. Clouds had blackened still further the spiritual atmosphere. The fire had died to embers; a cheap novel lay dishevelled on the hearth-rug as though precipitated there in a moment of irritation. Ophelia was sitting with her feet on the fender, her chin resting on her clinched fists.
Gabriel closed the door gently, picked up the book, appropriated a chair, and sat down. He was even impolitic enough to yawn behind his hand. The storm seethed two paces away, gathering satirical bitterness over the listless fire.
The man glanced up, more surprise than apology upon his face. He was in a conciliatory mood; his wife’s voice was more than ominous of injured sentiment.
“I have been writing,” he said; “the hour after dinner is one of my most enlightened periods. My imagination kindles.”
“You surely don’t consider such stuff literature?”
The lady tittered amiably and exhaled transcendent pity.
“Your conceit is really very amusing,” she remarked. “It is really too funny to think that you take yourself seriously. You—an author! My dear Gabriel, you are really too absurd.”
Now a man perhaps is never so sensitive as in the matter of mental acumen. Scoff at his ability as at a fond and fatuous delusion, a ridiculous piece of egotism, and you bid fair to touch his vanity to the quick. You may insult his figure with impunity, but it is dangerous to blaspheme against his mind.
“My dear girl, I hardly expect you to sympathize with me on such subjects.”