Chapter 2

Sonia half rose in her seat. There was a limit to—to things! Beneath
the bland coldness of Ellaline was something too obvious to overlook.
The set recognized the challenge for what it was. Ellaline had gone too
far. They all saw that. Sonia saw blurred ovals equipped with eyes. The
eyes seemed to be saying: “Will Sonia take it up? Or is she just dumb
enough not to read beneath the words?”

It was more than a challenge from Ellaline: it was a challenge from the
Set. Sonia had never belonged. She was not their kind. She had not their
ways. They thought her a frump. They thought her old and prim, and she
was in years more youthful than they, and in experience a child beside
them. Teddy was looking at her: she could not determine or interpret his
glance. She had a feeling of estrangement. He was one of them . . . one
of the enemy. She could not fit in: Ellaline belonged. Ellaline would
fit in here, or in London. Sonia had a prophetic vision of them doing
London together, these two! Teddy had planned all that for the
honeymoon, and then—business reasons—it could not be. They had put
their passport with the funny photographs of themselves, away with a
sigh. “Sometime later!” Teddy had cheered her. And now he was going on
business, alone. And, in June, Ellaline would be in London.

Had minutes elapsed since Ellaline spoke, or an hour, or a lifetime? In
reality, she supposed, seconds.

Sonia’s glass in Ellaline’s hand tinkled gaily against a plate. As if it
were a signal the orchestra burst into a gay extravaganza of sound.

Ellaline cried:

“Teddy, that’s our encore! I sent a special request a few moments ago!”

“If you dance it,” said Sonia steadily, “I shall go home!”

She wondered what inner power steadied her voice, redeeming the
statement from being a whine, or anything but what it was—an
irrevocable and dignified protest. Ellaline halted, flung up her head,
looked at Teddy.

“Sonia’s being funny!” she cried. “Come along, Teddy!”

Teddy went. Somebody snickered. Sonia lifted her head. The rude, vulgar
lot of them! She was through! She hated them all! She hated Teddy! She
caught up her evening cloak and made her way through the lines of tables
and out into the lobby. Teddy would probably follow; she hurried. She
spoke to the doorman, stepped into a taxi, and the car glided into the
night traffic of the city.

She was in bed when Teddy came in. He looked pale, standing there in the
doorway in his tuxedo. She said before he could speak:

“Please don’t bother me tonight. I’ve got a terrible headache!”

That was true enough. She was glad Teddy turned on no more lights; her
eyes smarted intolerably. She watched him, however. When he went to the
bathroom and she heard the familiar splash of water, something broke
within her. In a moment or two she would sob her heart out. He would try
to comfort her. The water ceased its splashing. Teddy came out.

She said:

“Do you mind sleeping in the spare room?”

“Sonia!”

“Please!”

“Oh, all right.”

She would have recalled her request a moment later. He gathered up such
things as he needed.

“Shall I put the lights out?”

“Please!”

Wasn’t he going to kiss her?

He hesitated, snapped off the light at the wall switch; a familiar
scent of soap and mannish talcum moved to her in a wan breath and died.
She lay still, listening for him to come back. That was their last night
together for three months. The first night in separate rooms. If he came
back ever so little, she would call him. The door of the spare room
closed firmly. Silence and darkness lay in the hallway.

* * * * *

The Charity Fair opened at two o’clock at the Forum on the morrow. As a
member of the publicity committee—she had a nice flair for
pastels—Sonia’s work was largely done in advance; but with last night’s
episode crowding her memory she determined to go. If any additional
impetus were needed it was given by the equal desolations of breakfast
and lunch; the one with Teddy glumly opposite her, the other
alone—which was the lonelier she did not know. Breakfast was the least
comfortable. A grey mist hung over the city; the air was sluggish as
that in an unaired room. She set the table in the breakfast alcove
mechanically.

She hoped he would attempt no explanations; equally she hoped he would.
His eyes dwelt rather miserably upon her, but nothing eventuated that
way. The politenesses demanded by passing and receiving food were
ridiculously formal.

He broke through to say: “You’ll be going to the Fair, Sonia?”

“Of course.” She added, smolderingly, “Why not?”

He swallowed the question and the dregs of his coffee, and rose.

“Must be off. Have a terrible lot to do. Be in by seven at the latest,
though. I shan’t be home to lunch today, of course.”

He hitched the shoulders of his raincoat, put on his hat meaninglessly,
took it off again, looked at her, mumbled good-by and was off!

One read of such things. One was told before marriage, “Wait till you’ve
been married a little while.” They had laughed together over that. “Not
us,” said Teddy. And here it was.

“Sometimes, my dear, it’s just some little thing; sometimes it’s another
woman.” She had laughed at the worldly-wise voice that told her that. It
hadn’t scared her. She’d told Teddy. Then he’d laughed. “Silly old
fool,” he said.

This wasn’t Teddy. It was a stranger standing there. Now he was no
longer there. He had gone. She heard his quick footsteps in the
corridor, on the stairs. She listened until the echoes ceased.

At luncheon she nibbled odds and ends snatched from the refrigerator.
She dressed with utmost care: a green sports costume because of the dash
it lent one.  She was on hand at two. A large room off the main
auditorium was humming with the comradeship of workers. Eventually this
would be the tea room, and already was proclaimed such by a poster of
Sonia’s, of which she was rather proud. A tide of gaiety swept up to
her, seemed to take note of who was coming, and receded. She felt like a
swimmer left on the beach on a cold day. It was not a conscious snub; it
was inevitable. Last night’s episode was noised abroad, and at sight of
her, everybody stopped talking to remember it—that was all.