The evening was at seven when she turned out of the April dusk, let herself into the hall, and saw her husband waiting in the living-room before an open fire. She came in without a sound, closed the door noiselessly behind her, and stood watching him for a moment through the pleasant effective vista of the small salon which intervened. Charles Hemple was in the middle thirties, with a young serious face and distinguished iron-gray hair which would be white in ten years more. That and his deep-set, dark-gray eyes were his most noticeable features—women always thought his hair was romantic; most of the time Luella thought so too.
At this moment she found herself hating him a little, for she saw that he had raised his hand to his face and was rubbing it nervously over his chin and mouth. It gave him an air of unflattering abstraction, and sometimes even obscured his words, so that she was continually saying «What?» She had spoken about it several times, and he had apologized in a surprised way. But obviously he didn’t realize how noticeable and how irritating it was, for he continued to do it. Things had now reached such a precarious state that Luella dreaded speaking of such matters any more—a certain sort of word might precipitate the imminent scene.
Luella tossed her gloves and purse abruptly on the table. Hearing the faint sound, her husband looked out toward the hall.
«Is that you, dear?»
«Yes, dear.»
She went into the living-room, and walked into his arms and kissed him tensely. Charles Hemple responded with unusual formality, and then turned her slowly around so that she faced across the room.
«I’ve brought some one home to dinner.»
She saw then that they were not alone, and her first feeling was of strong relief; the rigid expression on her face softened into a shy, charming smile as she held out her hand.
«This is Doctor Moon—this is my wife.»
A man a little older than her husband, with a round, pale, slightly lined face, came forward to meet her.
«Good evening, Mrs. Hemple,» he said. «I hope I’m not interfering with any arrangement of yours.»
«Oh, no,» Luella cried quickly. «I’m delighted that you’re coming to dinner. We’re quite alone.»
Simultaneously she thought of her engagement to-night, and wondered if this could be a clumsy trap of Charles’ to keep her at home. If it were, he had chosen his bait badly. This man—a tired placidity radiated from him, from his face, from his heavy, leisurely voice, even from the three-year-old shine of his clothes.
Nevertheless, she excused herself and went into the kitchen to see what was planned for dinner. As usual they were trying a new pair of servants, the luncheon had been ill-cooked and ill-served—she would let them go to-morrow. She hoped Charles would talk to them—she hated to get rid of servants. Sometimes they wept, and sometimes they were insolent, but Charles had a way with him. And they were always afraid of a man.
The cooking on the stove, however, had a soothing savor. Luella gave instructions about «which china,» and unlocked a bottle of precious chianti from the buffet. Then she went in to kiss young Chuck good night.
«Has he been good?» she demanded as he crawled enthusiastically into her arms.
«Very good,» said the governess. «We went for a long walk over by Central Park.»
«Well, aren’t you a smart boy!» She kissed him ecstatically.
«And he put his foot into the fountain, so we had to come home in a taxi right away and change his little shoe and stocking.»
«That’s right. Here, wait a minute, Chuck!» Luella unclasped the great yellow beads from around her neck and handed them to him. «You mustn’t break mama’s beads.» She turned to the nurse. «Put them on my dresser, will you, after he’s asleep?»
She felt a certain compassion for her son as she went away—the small enclosed life he led, that all children led, except in big families. He was a dear little rose, except on the days when she took care of him. His face was the same shape as hers; she was thrilled sometimes, and formed new resolves about life when his heart beat against her own.
In her own pink and lovely bedroom, she confined her attentions to her face, which she washed and restored. Doctor Moon didn’t deserve a change of dress, and Luella found herself oddly tired, though she had done very little all day. She returned to the living-room, and they went in to dinner.
«Such a nice house, Mrs. Hemple,» said Doctor Moon impersonally; «and let me congratulate you on your fine little boy.»
«Thanks. Coming from a doctor, that’s a nice compliment.» She hesitated. «Do you specialize in children?»
«I’m not a specialist at all,» he said. «I’m about the last of my kind—a general practitioner.»
«The last in New York, anyhow,» remarked Charles. He had begun rubbing his face nervously, and Luella fixed her eyes on Doctor Moon so that she wouldn’t see. But at Charles’s next words she looked back at him sharply.
«In fact,» he said unexpectedly, «I’ve invited Doctor Moon here because I wanted you to have a talk with him to-night.»
Luella sat up straight in her chair.
«A talk with me?»
«Doctor Moon’s an old friend of mine, and I think he can tell you a few things, Luella, that you ought to know.»
«Why—» She tried to laugh, but she was surprised and annoyed. «I don’t see, exactly, what you mean. There’s nothing the matter with me. I don’t believe I’ve ever felt better in my life.»
Doctor Moon looked at Charles, asking permission to speak. Charles nodded, and his hand went up automatically to his face.
«Your husband has told me a great deal about your unsatisfactory life together,» said Doctor Moon, still impersonally. «He wonders if I can be of any help in smoothing things out.»
Luella’s face was burning.
«I have no particular faith in psychoanalysis,» she said coldly, «and I scarcely consider myself a subject for it.»
«Neither have I,» answered Doctor Moon, apparently unconscious of the snub; «I have no particular faith in anything but myself. I told you I am not a specialist, nor, I may add, a faddist of any sort. I promise nothing.»
For a moment Luella considered leaving the room. But the effrontery of the suggestion aroused her curiosity too.
«I can’t imagine what Charles has told you,» she said, controlling herself with difficulty, «much less why. But I assure you that our affairs are a matter entirely between my husband and me. If you have no objections, Doctor Moon, I’d much prefer to discuss something—less personal.»
Doctor Moon nodded heavily and politely. He made no further attempt to open the subject, and dinner proceeded in what was little more than a defeated silence. Luella determined that, whatever happened, she would adhere to her plans for to-night. An hour ago her independence had demanded it, but now some gesture of defiance had become necessary to her self-respect. She would stay in the living-room for a short moment after dinner; then, when the coffee came, she would excuse herself and dress to go out.
But when they did leave the dining-room, it was Charles who, in a quick, unarguable way, vanished.
«I have a letter to write,» he said; «I’ll be back in a moment.» Before Luella could make a diplomatic objection, he went quickly down the corridor to his room, and she heard him shut his door.
Angry and confused, Luella poured the coffee and sank into a corner of the couch, looking intently at the fire.
«Don’t be afraid, Mrs. Hemple,» said Doctor Moon suddenly. «This was forced upon me. I do not act as a free agent——»
«I’m not afraid of you,» she interrupted. But she knew that she was lying. She was a little afraid of him, if only for his dull insensitiveness to her distaste.
«Tell me about your trouble,» he said very naturally, as though she were not a free agent either. He wasn’t even looking at her, and except that they were alone in the room, he scarcely seemed to be addressing her at all.
The words that were in Luella’s mind, her will, on her lips, were: «I’ll do no such thing.» What she actually said amazed her. It came out of her spontaneously, with apparently no co-operation of her own.
«Didn’t you see him rubbing his face at dinner?» she said despairingly. «Are you blind? He’s become so irritating to me that I think I’ll go mad.»
«I see.» Doctor Moon’s round face nodded.
«Don’t you see I’ve had enough of home?» Her breasts seemed to struggle for air under her dress. «Don’t you see how bored I am with keeping house, with the baby—everything seems as if it’s going on forever and ever? I want excitement; and I don’t care what form it takes or what I pay for it, so long as it makes my heart beat.»
«I see.»
It infuriated Luella that he claimed to understand. Her feeling of defiance had reached such a pitch that she preferred that no one should understand. She was content to be justified by the impassioned sincerity of her desires.
«I’ve tried to be good, and I’m not going to try any more. If I’m one of those women who wreck their lives for nothing, then I’ll do it now. You can call me selfish, or silly, and be quite right; but in five minutes I’m going out of this house and begin to be alive.»
This time Doctor Moon didn’t answer, but he raised his head as
