"Why are you so personal, Mrs. Pontellier? Why do you force me to

idiotic subterfuges?" he exclaimed with sudden warmth. "I suppose

there's no use telling you I've been very busy, or that I've been sick,

or that I've been to see you and not found you at home. Please let me

off with any one of these excuses."

"You are the embodiment of selfishness," she said. "You save yourself

something--I don't know what--but there is some selfish motive, and in

sparing yourself you never consider for a moment what I think, or how

I feel your neglect and indifference. I suppose this is what you would

call unwomanly; but I have got into a habit of expressing myself. It

doesn't matter to me, and you may think me unwomanly if you like."

"No; I only think you cruel, as I said the other day. Maybe not

intentionally cruel; but you seem to be forcing me into disclosures

which can result in nothing; as if you would have me bare a wound for

the pleasure of looking at it, without the intention or power of healing

it."

"I'm spoiling your dinner, Robert; never mind what I say. You haven't

eaten a morsel."

"I only came in for a cup of coffee." His sensitive face was all

disfigured with excitement.

"Isn't this a delightful place?" she remarked. "I am so glad it has

never actually been discovered. It is so quiet, so sweet, here. Do you

notice there is scarcely a sound to be heard? It's so out of the way;

and a good walk from the car. However, I don't mind walking. I always

feel so sorry for women who don't like to walk; they miss so much--so

many rare little glimpses of life; and we women learn so little of life

on the whole.

"Catiche's coffee is always hot. I don't know how she manages it, here

in the open air. Celestine's coffee gets cold bringing it from the

kitchen to the dining-room. Three lumps! How can you drink it so sweet?

Take some of the cress with your chop; it's so biting and crisp. Then

there's the advantage of being able to smoke with your coffee out here.

Now, in the city--aren't you going to smoke?"

"After a while," he said, laying a cigar on the table.

"Who gave it to you?" she laughed.

"I bought it. I suppose I'm getting reckless; I bought a whole box." She

was determined not to be personal again and make him uncomfortable.

The cat made friends with him, and climbed into his lap when he smoked

his cigar. He stroked her silky fur, and talked a little about her. He

looked at Edna's book, which he had read; and he told her the end, to

save her the trouble of wading through it, he said.




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