Chapter 39 - Page 2

sense of not giving him all he expected
of her. She had admired him, before their marriage, as a model of social
distinction; during the honeymoon he had been the most ardent of lovers;
and with their settling down at Saint Desert she had prepared to resign
herself to the society of a country gentleman absorbed in sport and
agriculture. But Raymond, to her surprise, had again developed a
disturbing resemblance to his predecessor. During the long winter
afternoons, after he had gone over his accounts with the bailiff, or
written his business letters, he took to dabbling with a paint-box, or
picking out new scores at the piano; after dinner, when they went to the
library, he seemed to expect to read aloud to her from the reviews and
papers he was always receiving; and when he had discovered her inability
to fix her attention he fell into the way of absorbing himself in one of
the old brown books with which the room was lined. At first he tried--as
Ralph had done--to tell her about what he was reading or what was
happening in the world; but her sense of inadequacy made her slip
away to other subjects, and little by little their talk died down to
monosyllables. Was it possible that, in spite of his books, the evenings
seemed as long to Raymond as to her, and that he had suggested going
back to Paris because he was bored at Saint Desert? Bored as she was
herself, she resented his not finding her company all-sufficient, and
was mortified by the discovery that there were regions of his life she
could not enter.

But once back in Paris she had less time for introspection, and Raymond
less for books. They resumed their dispersed and busy life, and in spite
of Hubert's ostentatious vicinity, of the perpetual lack of money, and
of Paul's innocent encroachments on her freedom, Undine, once more in
her element, ceased to brood upon her grievances. She enjoyed going
about with her husband, whose presence at her side was distinctly
ornamental. He seemed to have grown suddenly younger and more animated,
and when she saw other women looking at him she remembered how
distinguished he was. It amused her to have him in her train, and
driving about with him to dinners and dances, waiting for him on
flower-decked landings, or pushing at his side through blazing
theatre-lobbies, answered to her inmost ideal of domestic intimacy.

He seemed disposed to allow her more liberty than before, and it was
only now and then that he let drop a brief reminder of the conditions on
which it was accorded. She was to keep certain people at a distance,
she was not to cheapen herself by being seen at vulgar restaurants
and tea-rooms, she was to join with him in fulfilling certain family
obligations (going to a good many dull dinners among