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He didn’t answer, shocked at the treachery of her remembrance. She must have seen that the “at last” bruised him, for she continued:

“I was infatuated with you, Anson–you could make me do anything you liked. But we wouldn’t have been happy. I’m not smart enough for you. I don’t like things to be complicated like you do.” She paused.”You’ll never settle down,” she said.

The phrase struck at him from behind–it was an accusation that of all accusations he had never merited.

“I could settle down if women were different,” he said.”If I didn’t understand so much about them, if women didn’t spoil you for other women, if they had only a little pride. If I could go to sleep for a while and wake up into a home that was really mine–why, that’s what I’m made for, Paula, that’s what women have seen in me and liked in me. It’s only that I can’t get through the preliminaries any more.”

Hagerty came in a little before eleven; after a whiskey Paula stood up and announced that she was going to bed. She went over and stood by her husband.

“Where did you go, dearest?” she demanded.

“I had a drink with Ed Saunders.”

“I was worried. I thought maybe you’d run away.”

She rested her head against his coat.

“He’s sweet, isn’t he, Anson?” she demanded.

“Absolutely,” said Anson, laughing.

She raised her face to her husband.

“Well, I’m ready,” she said. She turned to Anson: “Do you want to see our family gymnastic stunt?”

“Yes,” he said in an interested voice.

“All right. Here we go!”

Hagerty picked her up easily in his arms.

“This is called the family acrobatic stunt,” said Paula.”He carries me up-stairs. Isn’t it sweet of him?”

“Yes,” said Anson.

Hagerty bent his head slightly until his face touched Paula’s.

“And I love him,” she said.”I’ve just been telling you, haven’t I, Anson?”

“Yes,” he said.

“He’s the dearest thing that ever lived in this world; aren’t you, darling? … Well, good night. Here we go. Isn’t he strong?”

“Yes,” Anson said.

“You’ll find a pair of Pete’s pajamas laid out for you. Sweet dreams–see you at breakfast.”

“Yes,” Anson said.

VIII

The older members of the firm insisted that Anson should go abroad for the summer. He had scarcely had a vacation in seven years, they said. He was stale and needed a change. Anson resisted.

“If I go,” he declared, “I won’t come back any more.”

“That’s absurd, old man. You’ll be back in three months with all this depression gone. Fit as ever.”

“No.” He shook his head stubbornly.”If I stop, I won’t go back to work. If I stop, that means I’ve given up–I’m through.”

“We’ll take a chance on that. Stay six months if you like–we’re not afraid you’ll leave us. Why, you’d be miserable if you didn’t work.”

They arranged his passage for him. They liked Anson–every one liked Anson–and the change that had been coming over him cast a sort of pall over the office. The enthusiasm that had invariably signalled up business, the consideration toward his equals and his inferiors, the lift of his vital presence–within the past four months his intense nervousness had melted down these qualities into the fussy pessimism of a man of forty. On every transaction in which he was involved he acted as a drag and a strain.

“If I go I’ll never come back,” he said.

Three days before he sailed Paula Legendre Hagerty died in childbirth. I was with him a great deal then, for we were crossing together, but for the first time in our friendship he told me not a word of how he felt, nor did I see the slightest sign of emotion. His chief preoccupation was with the fact that he was thirty years old–he would turn the conversation to the point where he could remind you of it and then fall silent, as if he assumed that the statement would start a chain of thought sufficient to itself. Like his partners, I was amazed at the change in him, and I was glad when the Parismoved off into the wet space between the worlds, leaving his principality behind.

“How about a drink?” he suggested.

We walked into the bar with that defiant feeling that characterizes the day of departure and ordered four Martinis. After one cocktail a change came over him–he suddenly reached across and slapped my knee with the first joviality I had seen him exhibit for months.