To that she objected that he
would not see Mina Raff, nothing would be accomplished. "She might have
dinner with you tomorrow night," she thought; "Mina gets back to the
Plaza a little before seven. But we can call the studio."
In view of what he had already done, Mrs. Grove's proposal seemed
unavoidably reasonable. He would telephone Fanny again in the morning
and explain. Fanny, his wife! Well, he continued, as though he were
angrily retorting to a criticism from without, no man ever better
realized the splendid qualities of his wife. That was beyond
contradiction; and he sharply added that not Fanny, but the role of a
wife, a housewife, was under observation. Mrs. Grove was married, but
that didn't keep her from the Malmaison, at what Eastlake
disapprovingly called all hours of the night. She had no aspect of a
servitude which, while it promised the most unlimited future rewards,
took the present grace, the charm, from women. That--the consequent
loss or gain--was open to question; but the fact remained: for the
majority of women marriage was fatal to their persons. Only the rich,
the fortunate and the unamenable escaped.
"In a very few minutes now," Mrs. Grove said, "you will be able to
sleep."
"I've never been wider awake," he protested; "I was thinking of how
marriage submerged most women while you escaped."
She laughed quietly, incomprehensibly.
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