Once she ventured to talk frankly with him about the wisdom of a legal
separation. It was foolish to go on in this way. It was dishonest; it was
the only immorality.
He laughed her to scorn. "You're too useful to me, my dear," he sneered. He
always added that "my dear" to any statement when he wished to be
thoroughly sarcastic.
He was conscious that certain captains of business would not have come so
frequently to his home if Lucia had not been there to dispense a supposedly
gracious hospitality. Let her go? Lose all this? Not at all! He brutally
told her so again and again. And finally she made up her mind, for the sake
of peace, that she would merely remain the flower under glass, if that was
his desire. Arguments were of no avail. In a sense, she was beaten.
The opera, books, travel, a few good friends--those that Morgan allowed
her to keep--these filled her days.
One evening she was particularly surprised when he said to her, casually:
"How would you like a little trip out West? You look peaked. Maybe it would
set you up."
"Why--it sounds nice, Morgan," she answered. "Is it business, or--" Her
sense of humor made it impossible for her to bring out the word "pleasure.
Pages:
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29