n, infelicities of temper, indifference or
infidelity. If she worked hard, as Angela was trying to do, trying to be
a good wife, saving, serving, making a sacrifice of her time and
services and moods and wishes for her husband's sake, why shouldn't he
do the same for her? She knew of no double standard of virtue. If she
had she would not have believed in it. Her parents had raised her to see
marriage in a different light. Her father was faithful to her mother.
Eugene's father was faithful to his wife--that was perfectly plain. Her
brothers-in-law were faithful to her sisters, Eugene's brothers-in-law
were faithful to his sisters. Why should not Eugene be faithful to her?

So far, of course, she had no evidence to the contrary. He probably was
faithful and would remain so. He had said so, but this pre-matrimonial
philandering of his looked very curious. It was an astonishing thing
that he could have deceived her so. She would never forget it. He was a
genius to be sure. The world was waiting to hear what he had to say. He
was a great man and should associate with great men, or, failing that,
should not want to associate with anyone at all. It was ridiculous for
him to be running around after silly women. She thought of this and
decided to do her best to prevent it. The seat of the mighty was in her
estimation the place for Eugene, with her in the foreground as a
faithful and conspicuous acolyte, swinging the censer of praise and
delight.

The days went on and various little meetings--some accidental, some
premeditated--took place between Eugene and Frieda. There was one
afternoon when he was at his sister's and she came there to get a
pattern for her foster-mother from Sylvia. She lingered for over an
hour, during which time Eugene had opportunities to kiss her a dozen
times. The beauty of her eyes and her smile haunted him after she was
gone. There was another time when he saw her at dusk near his boathouse,
and kissed her in the shadow of the sheltering grape-arbor. In his own
home there were clandestine moments and in his studio, the barn loft,
for Frieda made occasion a few times to come to him--a promise to make a
sketch of her being the excuse. Angela resented this, but she could not
prevent it. In the main Frieda exhibited that curious patience in love
which women so customarily exhibit and which a man can never understand.
She could wait for her own to come to her--for him to find her; while
he, with that curiou