The following morning Mr. Pontellier, upon leaving for his office, asked

Edna if she would not meet him in town in order to look at some new

fixtures for the library.

"I hardly think we need new fixtures, Leonce. Don't let us get anything

new; you are too extravagant. I don't believe you ever think of saving

or putting by."

"The way to become rich is to make money, my dear Edna, not to save it,"

he said. He regretted that she did not feel inclined to go with him and

select new fixtures. He kissed her good-by, and told her she was not

looking well and must take care of herself. She was unusually pale and

very quiet.

She stood on the front veranda as he quitted the house, and absently

picked a few sprays of jessamine that grew upon a trellis nearby. She

inhaled the odor of the blossoms and thrust them into the bosom of her

white morning gown. The boys were dragging along the banquette a small

"express wagon," which they had filled with blocks and sticks. The

quadroon was following them with little quick steps, having assumed a

fictitious animation and alacrity for the occasion. A fruit vender was

crying his wares in the street.

Edna looked straight before her with a self-absorbed expression upon

her face. She felt no interest in anything about her. The street, the

children, the fruit vender, the flowers growing there under her eyes,

were all part and parcel of an alien world which had suddenly become

antagonistic.

She went back into the house. She had thought of speaking to the cook

concerning her blunders of the previous night; but Mr. Pontellier had

saved her that disagreeable mission, for which she was so poorly fitted.

Mr. Pontellier's arguments were usually convincing with those whom he

employed. He left home feeling quite sure that he and Edna would sit

down that evening, and possibly a few subsequent evenings, to a dinner

deserving of the name.

Edna spent an hour or two in looking over some of her old sketches.

She could see their shortcomings and defects, which were glaring in her

eyes. She tried to work a little, but found she was not in the humor.

Finally she gathered together a few of the sketches--those which she

considered the least discreditable; and she carried them with her when,

a little later, she dressed and left the house. She looked handsome and

distinguished in her street gown. The tan of the seashore had left

her face, and her forehead was smooth, white, and polished beneath her

heavy, yellow-brown hair. There were a few freckles on her face, and a

small, dark mole near the under lip and one on the temple, half-hidden

in her hair.




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