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He stood where she had left him, a look of annoyed surprise upon his face. It was a real shock to him, and a disagreeable one. He preferred to think that Claudia was quite satisfied with their marriage. She had never before complained of any specific thing. She did not now. He told himself irritably that he wished she would, it would make it so much easier to give her what she wanted. The worst of women was that they were so vague in their demands and their complaints. Men can usually put down in black and white what they want; women never. He loved her, she was his wife, she shared his honor and the brilliant prospects for the future. What more did she want? Why did women talk in such an exaggerated way nowadays? Surely it was her fault if she were not satisfied? He had never pretended to any Paolo or Romeo-like passion; he had given her instead a much more useful commodity in the twentieth century��the good, honest heart of a real man, instead of the mawkish sentiment of an unbusiness-like poet. He had never run after other women as did so many of the men he knew. Of course, Claudia might say he had not had the time to do so, which was true. But[139] probably he could have made some time if he had wanted to amuse himself. It was true that he had not wanted to make love to any woman. After he had indulged his natural passions in marrying Claudia, women had dropped into the background again. Even the desultory emotions which used to stir within him had not agitated him. He could have lived a virtuous bachelor life with the greatest of ease.

��My dear! Don��t!��

��Is anyone satisfied with his life?��

��Please to meet you sir��I mean capting,�� murmured Joey Robbins, blinking at him. ��You��ve got the smartest little woman in the world as your wife, sir. There��s no one to touch her in her perfession. Lord! she did for old Joey long ago. She fairly beat his heart to a pulp.��

They entered the inn, and were shown up to a quaint-shaped, homely bedroom.

She realized this morning, as she stirred her coffee, that actually they had talked very little. Not that he was a silent companion, but they had always talked in crowded places of other people and current events. Necessarily their talk had been largely on the surface��a large surface, but yet only the surface of the things that matter. She had never, since childhood��s days, been[38] with him for many consecutive hours. She had never, since those days, been alone with him in the country, tramping side by side, or sitting for long, lazy hours under the green trees. Claudia knew that such times bare the man or woman of mannerisms and conventionalities, and expose the real ego. Two or three times before she had thought she liked men, but always on further and closer knowledge she had found them disappointing. Then she had been annoyed with herself for even that faint stirring of interest. In some unaccountable way she had felt humiliated when her brain failed to approve of them. But Gilbert could not disappoint her. How could such an admittedly clever man disappoint any woman? She was glad he was going to have a career, she saw herself helping him, entering into his thoughts and aims, working and loving side by side. She was glad she had not fallen in love with a nonentity or an idle, rich man.

Her looks had improved since her marriage. For some unknown reason she scrutinized herself dispassionately that night, and she realized that she was infinitely more attractive to men than when Gilbert had married her. Her figure now was almost as good as her mother��s had been at her age. Indeed, the tops of her arms and her wrists were even prettier. She remembered what an old friend of her mother��s had once said to her just before her marriage. ��You will be much admired, my dear, and you will remain naturally good-looking longer than your mother has done. But you will never enslave all sorts and conditions of men as she did��not that you come so far below her in looks, but because hers is the beaut�� du diable, that irresistible magnet to unregenerate man. You look too intelligent, too independent, too critical. That will pique some here and there, but the woman who shows obviously that she likes men and that they are necessary to her always finds a return for that compliment. Besides, she holds out hopes of reward which your type does not. The majority of men are childish and lazy: they pick the fruit on the lowest branches. You would be too exigeante, you would demand more than they could give. Your nature is not that of a Circe, and men will know it instinctively.��[107] Then she had kissed her affectionately and added, ��I am glad you have no beaut�� du diable. The world is better without it. Take your place in the heart of one man, not in the passions of many.��

The other was from Colin. She turned to the passage she wanted. It was on the last page.