He went out for a walk. Down the broad residential-street, lined with great trees and extensive lawns, he strolled aimlessly; but as soon as the fresh morning air got well into his lungs he quickened his pace, and soon found himself on the outer edge of the city.
After another half-hour of brisk walking he was surrounded by woods and fields and green meadows; and, turning down a narrow, winding lane, entered a shady wilderness. Somewhere quite near he could hear a brook. He found it, and flopped down on the bank.
For two hours he lay there, dozing.
Three o’clock found him at home again, feeling a little guilty that he had not been there to lunch with his wife. He always liked to hear her talk of the proceedings at court on days when she attended, not to mention the fact that she liked him to listen. Besides, was there not something in particular he wanted to ask about?
Something — to be sure. The Hamlin & Hamlin case, of course. No doubt it would be all right, but he really should not have neglected it, and she should have told him sooner that it had been put forward. A glance at the clock showed him that it was past four; too late now, anyway. He wandered aimlessly around the house for a while; then took a book from the library and went up to his room to read.
An hour later he heard the hall door leading into the adjoining room open and close, followed by the patter of quick footsteps to and fro, barely audible through the thick wall. Mr. Warner laid down his book and leaned forward attentively, trying to discover the temperature of the room beyond the wall by whatever sounds might reach his ear.
Suddenly his wife’s voice came:
“Timmie!”
He jumped hastily to his feet, crossed to the mirror and arranged his tie, cleared his throat twice and walked reluctantly, by a circuitous route, to the door. There he stood.
“Timmie!”
He opened the door and went in.
“Good evening, my dear,” said he, stopping three paces from the threshold.
Mrs. Warner was seated at the dressing table arranging her hair. Her lovely face, wearing an unwonted flush, looked across at her husband from the mirror. There was also an unusual redness about her eyes, which he noted and wondered at.
“I didn’t see you at lunch,” she began abruptly.
Mr. Warner blinked. “No,” he said, and stopped.
“Where were you?”
“Why... I... the fact is, I went for a walk.”
Mrs. Warner turned around to look at him.
“A walk?”
“Yes, in the country. The jolliest woods out on the Wakarusa Road. Perfectly full of trees.”
“That is a habit of woods, isn’t it?” suggested Mrs. Warner sarcastically. Then she had the grace to laugh at herself; but Mr. Warner thought she was laughing at him and became uncomfortable.
“I was sorry to miss lunch,” said he, to change the subject. “I wanted to ask about Hamlin & Hamlin. I suppose it came out all right.”
“Well, you suppose wrong. It didn’t.”
“What!” Mr. Warner took a step forward. “You don’t mean—”
“Yes. We lost.”
“But that’s impossible!” cried the little man, aghast.
“No. It’s true. Good heavens, Timmie, do you think I can always win?”
He answered simply:
“Yes.”
At that tribute she turned again to look at him, and her eyes softened. “I believe you really do think so,” she said. “You’re a dear, Timmie.” Then she exploded with sudden violence: “I just wish old Hamlin had heard you say that!”
Her husband blinked at her, utterly bewildered.
“What?” he stammered.
“What you just said.” She turned about to face him. “Timmie, do you think I am a woman naturally inclined to give way to tears?”
“My dear goodness, no!” Mr. Warner actually smiled, the idea was so very amusing.
“Well, I did this afternoon. It was old Hamlin’s fault.
I hate him! Do you know what he said? He said that you win my cases for me. At least he intimated it. ‘My dear Mrs. Warner, it is quite evident that we have not had the benefit of your husband’s advice in this case. I shall pay your fee with reluctance.’ That was the way he put it. Just because he was angry at losing! I won’t take a cent!”
“But why on earth should he say such a thing?” demanded Mr. Warner.
“I don’t know. Of course, it’s absurd. But he’ll shout it all over town, and I have enough enemies to make it embarrassing.”
“No one will believe it.”
“Oh, yes they will. The envious are easily persuaded. But not for long. I’ll show them.” Mrs. Warner’s pretty lips narrowed to a thin line. “As far as old Hamlin is concerned,” she continued, “it is easy enough to understand him. He hasn’t forgotten ten years ago, when he had the impudence to try to make love to me. I told you about it at the time.”
“I know,” said the little man, looking away. He was thinking that old Hamlin was not the only one, and telling himself that this was a good opportunity to say something that had been on his mind for months, if he could only find the courage. He ended by blurting out:
“There is young Nelson, too.”
Mrs. Warner looked up, frowning. “What do you mean by that?”
“Why — you know — he is — that is, you see him—”
“Don’t be a goose, Timmie.” The pretty lips parted in a smile, possibly at the idea of her husband being jealous. “Of course I see him. I can’t very well snub the son of the man who owns the Granton Electric Railway Company — they are my best clients. But don’t get any silly notions in your head. You know very well I haven’t time to allow myself to be in love with Jack Nelson or anyone else. Not even you, Timmie, dear. Now off with you; I must get ready for dinner. It’s nearly time.”
“But people are bound to talk—”
“Timmie!”
Mr. Warner went. The germ of dissatisfaction was stirring within him, and he wore a gloomy countenance as he took off his brown tweed suit and got into a dinner jacket. He wondered why it should render him utterly speechless to hear his wife say “Timmie!” like that.
Then the dinner bell sounded, and he gave it up with a sigh.
II
During the month that followed, Mrs. Warner found abundant justification for her prophecy that old Mr. Hamlin would “shout it all over town.” More accurately, he whispered it, which in such cases is far more effective.
The first rumor of his pernicious utterances came to her ears from the lips of her friend Mrs. Lodge, at a dinner party at the latter’s home. It appeared that Mr. Hamlin had assured Mr. Lodge — strictly sub rosa, of course — that the brilliant and eminent Mrs. Warner was really nothing more than a pretty dummy whose strings were worked by the subtle brain of her insignificant-looking husband.
“Of course,” said Mrs. Lodge in conclusion, “it’s all the veriest bosh. Haven’t we all heard you make the most wonderful speeches? Thomas Hamlin is an old crank. But it is really too bad, because some people are going to believe it.”
And a week later, at a meeting of the city bar association, of which she was vice president, Mrs. Warner overheard several unpleasant witticisms that were quite evidently intended for her ears. They were actuated, she told herself, by the contemptible envy of disgruntled lawyers who hated her for her preeminent success. Nevertheless, they left their mark.
She began to fear for her prestige.
Fed for ten years on a rich diet of eulogy and adulation, the horrible thought entered her mind that she might end by finding a seat at the table of ridicule. As for a shrinkage in fees, she did not care about that, having made herself independently rich.