"It's a rummy old world. Here I've gone alone all these years...."
"Twenty-six!" smiling.
"Well, that's a long time. Never bothered my head about a woman. Selfish,
perhaps. Had a good time, came and went as I pleased. And then I met
Nora."
"Yes."
"If only she'd been stand-offish, like these other singers, why, I'd have
been all right to-day. But she's such a brick! She's such a good fellow!
She treats us all alike; sings when we ask her to; always ready for a
romp. Think of her making us all take the Kneip-cure the other night!
And we marched around the fountain singing 'Mary had a little lamb.'
Barefooted in the grass! When a man marries he doesn't want a wife half so
much as a good comrade; somebody to slap him on the back in the morning to
hearten him up for the day's work; and to cuddle him up when he comes home
tired, or disappointed, or unsuccessful. No matter what mood he's in. Is
my English getting away from you?"
"No; I understand all you say." Her hand rested a trifle heavier upon his
shoulder, that was all.
"Nora would be that kind of a wife. 'Honor, anger, valor, fire,' as
Stevenson says. Hang the picture; what am I going to do with it?"
"'Honor, anger, valor, fire,'" Celeste repeated slowly. "Yes, that is
Nora." A bitter little smile moved her lips as she recalled the happenings
of the last two days. But no; he must find out for himself; he must meet
the hurt from Nora, not from her. "How long, Abbott, have you known your
friend Mr. Courtlandt?"
"Boys together," playing a light tattoo with his mahl-stick.
"How old is he?"
"About thirty-two or three."
"He is very rich?"
"Oceans of money; throws it away, but not fast enough to get rid of it."
"He is what you say in English ... wild?"
"Well," with mock gravity, "I shouldn't like to be the tiger that crossed
his path. Wild; that's the word for it."
"You are laughing. Ah, I know! I should say dissipated."
"Courtlandt? Come, now, Celeste; does he look dissipated?"
"No-o."
"He drinks when he chooses, he flirts with a pretty woman when he chooses,
he smokes the finest tobacco there is when he chooses; and he gives them
all up when he chooses. He is like the seasons; he comes and goes, and
nobody can change his habits."
"He has had no affair?"
"Why, Courtlandt hasn't any heart. It's a mechanical device to keep his
blood in circulation; that's all. I am the most intimate friend he has,
and yet I know no more than you how he lives and where he goes."
She let her hand fall from his shoulder. She was glad that he did not
know.