His worst moment came when he went to see Clare Van Degen, who, on the eve of departure, had begged him to come to her hotel.  He found her less restless and rattling than usual, with a look in her eyes that reminded him of the days when she had haunted his thoughts.  The visit passed off without vain returns to the past; but as he was leaving she surprised him by saying:  “Don’t let Peter make a goose of your wife.”

Ralph reddened, but laughed.

“Oh, Undine’s wonderfully able to defend herself, even against such seductions as Peter’s.”

Mrs. Van Degen looked down with a smile at the bracelets on her thin brown wrist.  “His personal seductions—­yes.  But as an inventor of amusements he’s inexhaustible; and Undine likes to be amused.”

Ralph made no reply but showed no annoyance.  He simply took her hand and kissed it as he said good-bye; and she turned from him without audible farewell.

As the day of departure approached.  Undine’s absorption in her dresses almost precluded the thought of amusement.  Early and late she was closeted with fitters and packers—­even the competent Celeste not being trusted to handle the treasures now pouring in—­and Ralph cursed his weakness in not restraining her, and then fled for solace to museums and galleries.

He could not rouse in her any scruple about incurring fresh debts, yet he knew she was no longer unaware of the value of money.  She had learned to bargain, pare down prices, evade fees, brow-beat the small tradespeople and wheedle concessions from the great—­not, as Ralph perceived, from any effort to restrain her expenses, but only to prolong and intensify the pleasure of spending.  Pained by the trait, he tried to laugh her out of it.  He told her once that she had a miserly hand—­showing her, in proof, that, for all their softness, the fingers would not bend back, or the pink palm open.  But she retorted a little sharply that it was no wonder, since she’d heard nothing talked of since their marriage but economy; and this left him without any answer.  So the purveyors continued to mount to their apartment, and Ralph, in the course of his frequent nights from it, found himself always dodging the corners of black glazed boxes and swaying pyramids of pasteboard; always lifting his hat to sidling milliners’ girls, or effacing himself before slender vendeuses floating by in a mist of opopanax.  He felt incompetent to pronounce on the needs to which these visitors ministered; but the reappearance among them of the blond-bearded jeweller gave him ground for fresh fears.  Undine had assured him that she had given up the idea of having her ornaments reset, and there had been ample time for their return; but on his questioning her she explained that there had been delays and “bothers” and put him in the wrong by asking ironically if he supposed she was buying things “for pleasure” when she knew as well as he that there wasn’t any money to pay for them.