dBooks desire

To whet his pleasure to the keenest
she must be there to admire with him, to try on, to
exhibit. As she entered the salon where the little man
was fussing about among the packages, their glances
met. She saw that Harding had told him--at least in
discreet outline--of their conversation. She also saw
that if she reopened the subject she would find herself
straightway whirled out upon a stormy sea of danger
that might easily overwhelm her flimsy boat. She
silently and sullenly dropped into her place; she
ministered to the general's pleasure in packages of finery.
But she did not exclaim, or admire, or respond in any
way. The honeymoon was over. Her dream of wifehood
was dissipated.
She understood now the look she so often had seen
on the faces of rich men's poor wives driving in state
in Fifth Avenue. That night, as she inspected herself
in the glass while the general's maid for her brushed
her long thick hair, she saw the beginnings of that look
in her own face. ``I don't know just what I am,'' she
said to herself.


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