Mr. Pontellier finally lit a cigar and began to smoke, letting the paper

drag idly from his hand. He fixed his gaze upon a white sunshade that

was advancing at snail's pace from the beach. He could see it plainly

between the gaunt trunks of the water-oaks and across the stretch of

yellow camomile. The gulf looked far away, melting hazily into the blue

of the horizon. The sunshade continued to approach slowly. Beneath its

pink-lined shelter were his wife, Mrs. Pontellier, and young Robert

Lebrun. When they reached the cottage, the two seated themselves with

some appearance of fatigue upon the upper step of the porch, facing each

other, each leaning against a supporting post.

"What folly! to bathe at such an hour in such heat!" exclaimed Mr.

Pontellier. He himself had taken a plunge at daylight. That was why the

morning seemed long to him.

"You are burnt beyond recognition," he added, looking at his wife as one

looks at a valuable piece of personal property which has suffered some

damage. She held up her hands, strong, shapely hands, and surveyed them

critically, drawing up her fawn sleeves above the wrists. Looking at

them reminded her of her rings, which she had given to her husband

before leaving for the beach. She silently reached out to him, and he,

understanding, took the rings from his vest pocket and dropped them

into her open palm. She slipped them upon her fingers; then clasping

her knees, she looked across at Robert and began to laugh. The rings

sparkled upon her fingers. He sent back an answering smile.

"What is it?" asked Pontellier, looking lazily and amused from one to

the other. It was some utter nonsense; some adventure out there in the

water, and they both tried to relate it at once. It did not seem half

so amusing when told. They realized this, and so did Mr. Pontellier. He

yawned and stretched himself. Then he got up, saying he had half a mind

to go over to Klein's hotel and play a game of billiards.

"Come go along, Lebrun," he proposed to Robert. But Robert admitted

quite frankly that he preferred to stay where he was and talk to Mrs.

Pontellier.

"Well, send him about his business when he bores you, Edna," instructed

her husband as he prepared to leave.

"Here, take the umbrella," she exclaimed, holding it out to him. He

accepted the sunshade, and lifting it over his head descended the steps

and walked away.

"Coming back to dinner?" his wife called after him. He halted a moment

and shrugged his shoulders. He felt in his vest pocket; there was a

ten-dollar bill there. He did not know; perhaps he would return for the

early dinner and perhaps he would not. It all depended upon the company

which he found over at Klein's and the size of "the game." He did not

say this, but she understood it, and laughed, nodding good-by to him.




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