cts of living, she
concerned herself solely with the managerial details. It did not take
her long to discover that if anyone would relieve Eugene of all care for
himself he would let him do it. It was no satisfaction to him to buy
himself anything. He objected to executive and commercial details. If
tickets had to be bought, time tables consulted, inquiries made, any
labor of argument or dispute engaged in, he was loath to enter on it.
"You get these, will you, Angela?" he would plead, or "you see him about
that. I can't now. Will you?"

Angela would hurry to the task, whatever it was, anxious to show that
she was of real use and necessity. On the busses of London or Paris, as
in New York, he was sketching, sketching, sketching--cabs, little
passenger boats of the Seine, characters in the cafes, parks, gardens,
music halls, anywhere, anything, for he was practically tireless. All
that he wanted was not to be bothered very much, to be left to his own
devices. Sometimes Angela would pay all the bills for him for a day. She
carried his purse, took charge of all the express orders into which
their cash had been transferred, kept a list of all their expenditures,
did the shopping, buying, paying. Eugene was left to see the thing that
he wanted to see, to think the things that he wanted to think. During
all those early days Angela made a god of him and he was very willing to
cross his legs, Buddha fashion, and act as one.

Only at night when there were no alien sights or sounds to engage his
attention, when not even his art could come between them, and she could
draw him into her arms and submerge his restless spirit in the tides of
her love did she feel his equal--really worthy of him. These transports
which came with the darkness, or with the mellow light of the little oil
lamp that hung in chains from the ceiling near their wide bed, or in the
faint freshness of dawn with the birds cheeping in the one tree of the
little garden below--were to her at once utterly generous and profoundly
selfish. She had eagerly absorbed Eugene's philosophy of self-indulgent
joy where it concerned themselves--all the more readily as it coincided
with her own vague ideas and her own hot impulses.

Angela had come to marriage through years of self-denial, years of
bitter longing for the marriage that perhaps would never be, and out of
those years she had come to the marriage bed with a cumulative and
intense passion. Without any knowledge eit