to take a hint. How long has she been with us? As
for your saying that you can't get anyone else, and can't keep house
decently as other decent people do, there isn't a word of truth in it!
You can do whatever you care enough about to try to do. You didn't make
an incompetent mess of taking care of the baby as you did out of that
disgusting dinner party!"

It was the first time he had ever spoken outright to her of that
experience. Lydia was transfixed to hear the poison of the memory as
fresh in his voice as though it had happened yesterday.

"I'm simply not worth putting yourself out for," went on Paul, turning
away and picking up his overcoat. "I'm only a common, ignorant,
materialistic beast of an American husband!" He added in an insulting
tone: "I suppose you'd like two husbands; one to earn your living for
you, and one to talk to about your soul and to exchange near-culture
with!"

He had not looked at Lydia as he poured out this sudden flood of
acrimony, but at her quick, fierce reply, he faced her.

"I'd like _one_ husband," she cried white with indignation.

"And I'd like a wife!" Paul flashed back at her hotly. "A wife that'd be
a help and not a hindrance to everything I want to do--a wife that'd be
loyal to me behind my back, and not listen to sneaking foreigners
telling her that she's a misunderstood martyr--_martyr_!" His sense of
injury exalted him. "Yes; all you American wives are martyrs, all right,
I must say. While your husbands are working like dogs to make you money,
you're sitting around with nothing to do but drink tea and listen to a
foreigner who tells you--in summer time, while you're enjoying the cool
breeze out here on a--maybe you think a dynamo-room's a funny place to
be, with the thermometer standing at--what am I _doing_ when I'm away
from you? Enjoying myself, no doubt. Maybe you think it's enjoyment to
travel all night on a--maybe you think it's nice to make yourself
conspicuous with another man that's been abusing your--"

Lydia could hear no more for a loud roaring in her ears. She knew then
the blackest moment of her life--a sickening scorn for the man before
her. Madeleine had been right, then. They were of the same blood. His
sister knew him better than--she, his wife, his wedded wife, was not to
be spared the pollution of having her husband--

"I didn't take any stock in Madeleine's nasty insinuations about your
flirting with him, of course, but it showed me what you've bee