Sometimes Hazel caught herself wondering if they were getting as much
out of the holiday as they should have gotten, as they had planned to
get when they were struggling through that interminable winter. _She_
was. But not Bill. And while she wished that he could get the same
satisfaction out of his surroundings and opportunities as she conceived
herself to be getting, she often grew impatient with his sardonic,
tolerant contempt toward the particular set she mostly consorted with.
If she ventured to give a tea, he fled the house as if from the plague.
He made acquaintances of his own, men from God only knew where,
individuals who occasionally filled the dainty apartment with
malodorous tobacco fumes, and who would cheerfully sit up all night
discoursing earnestly on any subject under the sun. But so long as
Bill found Granville habitable she did not mind.
Above all, as the winter and the winter gayety set in together with
equal vigor, she thought with greater reluctance of the ultimate return
to that hushed, deep-forested area that surrounded the cabin.
She wished fervently that Bill would take up some business that would
keep him in touch with civilization.
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