What is so valuable, so necessary, to you, I
never think of. You are so full of your life that you don't consider
mine, except where it is tied up with your interests."
"Lee Randon," she cried, "I've given you everything, it's all planned
for you, here. Nothing comes on the table that you dislike--we haven't
had beefsteak for months; when you are busy with your papers I keep it
like a grave; and if the house seems cold, and I can't find
Christopher, I don't bother you, but slip down to the furnace myself."
"Make me uncomfortable, then," he retorted; "I think that's what I'm
sick of--your eternal gabbling about comfort and dinner. Let the God
damn furnace go out! Or burn up."
"That's all I have, Lee," she said helplessly; "it is my life. I tried,
the last month, to be different, after watching you with gayer women;
but it only made me miserable; I kept wondering if Gregory was covered
up and if the car would start when you wanted to go home. But I won't
be sorry for it." Her head was up, her cheeks blazing. "I know, and so
ought you, what being good is. And if you forget it you will have a
dreadful misfortune. God is like that: He'll punish you."
"You don't need help," he commented brutally.
Detached tears rolled over her cheeks. "I won't cry," she contradicted
the visible act; "I won't. You take such a cowardly advantage of me."
The advantage, he reflected, was entirely on her side.
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