He glowered at her under thrust-out brows. “It isn’t a reason, isn’t it? I can seem to remember the time when you used to think it was equal to a whole carload of whitewash.”
She blushed a bright red, and her own brows were levelled at his above her stormy steel-grey eyes. The sense of her blunder made her angrier with him, and more ruthless.
“I can’t expect you to understand—you never HAVE, you or mother, when it came to my feelings. I suppose some people are born sensitive—I can’t imagine anybody’d CHOOSE to be so. Because I’ve been too proud to complain you’ve taken it for granted that I was perfectly happy. But my marriage was a mistake from the beginning; and Ralph feels just as I do about it. His people hate me, they’ve always hated me; and he looks at everything as they do. They’ve never forgiven me for his having had to go into business—with their aristocratic ideas they look down on a man who works for his living. Of course it’s all right for YOU to do it, because you’re not a Marvell or a Dagonet; but they think Ralph ought to just lie back and let you support the baby and me.”
This time she had found the right note: she knew it by the tightening of her father’s slack muscles and the sudden straightening of his back.
“By George, he pretty near does!” he exclaimed bringing down his fist on the desk. “They haven’t been taking it out of you about that, have they?” “They don’t fight fair enough to say so. They just egg him on to turn against me. They only consented to his marrying me because they thought you were so crazy about the match you’d give us everything, and he’d have nothing to do but sit at home and write books.”
Mr. Spragg emitted a derisive groan. “From what I hear of the amount of business he’s doing I guess he could keep the Poet’s Corner going right along. I suppose the old man was right—he hasn’t got it in him to make money.”
“Of course not; he wasn’t brought up to it, and in his heart of hearts he’s ashamed of having to do it. He told me it was killing a little more of him every day.”
“Do they back him up in that kind of talk?”
“They back him up in everything. Their ideas are all different from ours. They look down on us—can’t you see that? Can’t you guess how they treat me from the way they’ve acted to you and mother?”
He met this with a puzzled stare. “The way they’ve acted to me and mother? Why, we never so much as set eyes on them.”
“That’s just what I mean! I don’t believe they’ve even called on mother this year, have they? Last year they just left their cards without asking. And why do you suppose they never invite you to dine? In their set lots of people older than you and mother dine every night of the winter—society’s full of them. The Marvells are ashamed to have you meet their friends: that’s the reason. They’re ashamed to have it known that Ralph married an Apex girl, and that you and mother haven’t always had your own servants and carriages; and Ralph’s ashamed of it too, now he’s got over being crazy about me. If he was free I believe he’d turn round tomorrow and marry that Ray girl his mother’s saving up for him.”
Mr. Spragg listened with a heavy brow and pushed-out lip. His daughter’s outburst seemed at last to have roused him to a faint resentment. After she had ceased to speak he remained silent, twisting an inky penhandle between his fingers; then he said: “I guess mother and I can worry along without having Ralph’s relatives drop in; but I’d like to make it clear to them that if you came from Apex your income came from there too. I presume they’d be sorry if Ralph was left to support you on HIS.”
She saw that she had scored in the first part of the argument, but every watchful nerve reminded her that the hardest stage was still ahead.
“Oh, they’re willing enough he should take your money—that’s only natural, they think.”
A chuckle sounded deep down under Mr. Spragg’s loose collar. “There seems to be practical unanimity on that point,” he observed. “But I don’t see,” he continued, jerking round his bushy brows on her, “how going to Europe is going to help you out.”
Undine leaned close enough for her lowered voice to reach him. “Can’t you understand that, knowing how they all feel about me—and how Ralph feels—I’d give almost anything to get away?”
Her father looked at her compassionately. “I guess most of us feel that once in a way when we’re youngy, Undine. Later on you’ll see going away ain’t much use when you’ve got to turn round and come back.”
She nodded at him with close-pressed lips, like a child in possession of some solemn secret.
“That’s just it—that’s the reason I’m so wild to go; because it MIGHT mean I wouldn’t ever have to come back.”
“Not come back? What on earth are you talking about?”
“It might mean that I could get free—begin over again…”
He had pushed his seat back with a sudden jerk and cut her short by striking his palm on the arm of the chair.
“For the Lord’s sake. Undine—do you know what you’re saying?”
“Oh, yes, I know.” She gave him back a confident smile. “If I can get away soon—go straight over to Paris…there’s some one there who’d do anything… who COULD do anything…if I was free…”
Mr. Spragg’s hands continued to grasp his chair-arms. “Good God, Undine Marvell—are you sitting there in your sane senses and talking to me of what you could do if you were FREE?”
Their glances met in an interval of speechless communion; but Undine did not shrink from her father’s eyes and when she lowered her own it seemed to be only because there was nothing left for them to say.
“I know just what I could do if I were free. I could marry the right man,” she answered boldly.
He met her with a murmur of helpless irony. “The right man? The right man? Haven’t you had enough of trying for him yet?”
As he spoke the door behind them opened, and Mr. Spragg looked up abruptly.
The stenographer stood on the threshold, and above her shoulder Undine perceived the ingratiating grin of Elmer Moffatt.
“‘A little farther lend thy guiding hand’—but I guess I can go the rest of the way alone,” he said, insinuating himself through the doorway with an airy gesture of dismissal; then he turned to Mr. Spragg and Undine.
“I agree entirely with Mrs. Marvell—and I’m happy to have the opportunity of telling her so,” he proclaimed, holding his hand out gallantly.
Undine stood up with a laugh. “It sounded like old times, I suppose—you thought father and I were quarrelling? But we never quarrel any more: he always agrees with me.” She smiled at Mr. Spragg and turned her shining eyes on Moffatt. “I wish that treaty had been signed a few years sooner!” the latter rejoined in his usual tone of humorous familiarity.
Undine had not met him since her marriage, and of late the adverse turn of his fortunes had carried him quite beyond her thoughts. But his actual presence was always stimulating, and even through her self-absorption she was struck by his air of almost defiant prosperity. He did not look like a man who has been beaten; or rather he looked like a man who does not know when he is beaten; and his eye had the gleam of mocking confidence that had carried him unabashed through his lowest hours at Apex.
“I presume you’re here to see me on business?” Mr. Spragg enquired, rising from his chair with a glance that seemed to ask his daughter’s silence.
“Why, yes. Senator,” rejoined Moffatt, who was given, in playful moments, to the bestowal of titles high-sounding. “At least I’m here to ask you a little question that may lead to business.”
Mr. Spragg crossed the office and held open the