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because Lowell was like a stranger to me. It didn't seem as though she
could be my own. I wrote you a letter and tore it up. Oh, you were so
bad to me, Anson."
It was the dialogue again, rising and falling. Anson felt a
sudden quickening of memory.
"Weren't you engaged once?" she asked – "a girl named Dolly
something?"
"I wasn't ever engaged. I tried to be engaged, but I never loved
anybody but you, Paula."
"Oh," she said. Then after a moment: "This baby is the first one
I ever really wanted. You see. I'm in love now – at last."
He didn't answer, shocked at the treachery of her remembrance.
She must have seen that the "at last" bruised him, for she continued:
"I was infatuated with you, Anson – you could make me do
anything you liked. But we wouldn't have been happy. I'm not smart
enough for you. I don't like things to be complicated like you do."
She paused. "You'll never settle down," she said.
The phrase struck at him from behind – it was an accusation
that of all accusations he had never merited.
"I could settle down if women were different," he said. "If I
didn't understand so much about them, if women didn't spoil you for
other women, if they had only a little pride. If I could go to sleep for a
while and wake up into a home that was really mine – why, that's
what I'm made for, Paula, that's what women have seen in me and
liked in me. It's only that I can't get through the preliminaries any
more."
Hagerty came in a little before eleven; after a whiskey Paula
stood up and announced that she was going to bed. She went over and
stood by her husband.
"Where did you go, dearest?" she demanded.
"I had a drink with Ed Saunders."
"I was worried. I thought maybe you'd run away."
She rested her head against his coat.
"He's sweet, isn't he, Anson?" she demanded.
"Absolutely," said Anson, laughing.
She raised her face to her husband.
"Well, I'm ready," she said. She turned to Anson: "Do you want
to see our family gymnastic stunt?"
"Yes," he said in an interested voice.