And at midnight he called up the office on the telephone and talked with
Mr. King or Mr. Vroom about the news in hand and the programme for
presenting it in the next morning's paper.
But as "people"--meaning Marian's friends--returned to town, they fell into
the former routine. It was in part his doing, in part hers. He was now
thirty-seven years old and his mind, always of a serious cast, was
intolerant of trifles and triflers.
Marian's range of interests was shallower but much wider than his. Her
beauty, her cleverness, her tact caused her to be sought. She invited many
to their house and accepted more and more invitations. At first she never
went without him. But he was sometimes compelled by his work to send her
alone. He rarely went except for her sake--because he thought going about
amused her. And he was glad and relieved when she began to go without him,
instead of spending the evenings in solitude.
"There is no reason why you should punish yourself and punish me because
you had the ill luck to marry a working-man," he said. "It cannot be
agreeable to sit here all by yourself evening after evening. And it
depresses me when I am at the office at night to think of you as lonely. It
makes me happier in my work--my pleasure, you know--to think of you
enjoying yourself.
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