"They tell me it's God's country, with big chances for everyone. I want to
add to our little pile, Lucia," Pell went on. He hoped she would get the
significance of the "our."
"You're too good to me, Morgan," she said, and meant it. "But why do we
need any more money? We've got everything now."
"Everything?" he said, significantly; and his eyes became two narrow slits
as he looked at her.
She toyed with her salad. She hoped he was not going to get into one of his
fiendishly unpleasant moods.
"Well," she ventured, "as much as anyone could reasonably want. This house,
the garden, friends--"
"Yes," he sneered, "but not much love." The butler had tactfully withdrawn.
"Why don't you love me, Lucia?"
"I do--in a way. Oh, let's don't go into all that again, Morgan. We've had
it out so many times. What's the use?"
"Is there anyone else?" he asked. "If I thought there was...." He lifted
his glass again.
"You know there isn't," she protested.
He appraised her across the table, beautiful in a blue gown which just
matched her eyes, her throat adorned with a string of pearls he had given
her on the anniversary of their marriage.
"I don't see how a woman as lovely as you can be so cold," he said.
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