I was angrier than ever when the knowledge of my own emotion forced itself upon me, angry with myself for being so silly, angry with Dicky for having brought such provocation upon me!  I let my speech lash out blindly, not caring what I said: 

“You are wrong in one thing—­right in another.  I am not jealous of Miss Draper.  To tell you the truth, I do not care enough about what you do to be jealous of you.  But I would not like to live in Marvin for this season—­I never counted in my list of friends a woman who possesses neither good breeding nor common sense, and I do not propose to begin with Miss Draper.”

Dicky stared at me for a moment, his face dark and distorted with passion.  Then, springing to his feet, he picked up his collar and tie and went into his room.  Returning with fresh ones, he snatched his hat and stick and rushed to the door.  As he slammed it after him I heard another oath, one this time coupled with a reference to me.  I sank back in the big chair weak and trembling.

“Well, you have made a mess of it!” My mother-in-law’s voice, cool and cynical, sounded behind me.  I felt like saying something caustic to her, but there was something in her tones that stopped me.  It was not criticism of me she was expressing, rather sympathy.  Accustomed as I was to every inflection of her voice, I realized this, and accordingly held my tongue until she had spoken further.

“I’ll admit you’ve had enough to make any woman lose her control of herself,” went on Dicky’s mother, with the fairness which I had found her invariably to possess in anything big, no matter how petty and fussy she was over trifles.  “But you ought to know Richard better than to take that way with him.  Give Richard his head and he soon tires of any of the thousand things he proposes doing from time to time.  Oppose him, ridicule him, make him angry, and he’ll stick to his notion as a dog to a bone.”

She turned and walked into her own room again.  I sat miserably huddled in the big chair, by turn angry at my husband and remorseful over my own hastiness.

“Vot I do about dinner, Missis Graham?” Katie’s voice was subdued, sympathetic and respectful.  I realized that she had heard every word of our controversy.  The knowledge made my reply curt.

“Keep it warm as long as you can.  I will tell you when to serve it.”

Katie stalked out, muttering something about the dinner being spoiled, but I paid no heed to her.  My thoughts were too busy with conjectures and forebodings of the future to pay any attention to trifles.

The twilight deepened into darkness.  I was just nerving myself to summon Katie and tell her to serve dinner when the door opened and Dicky’s rapid step crossed the room.  He switched on the light, and then coming over to me, lifted me bodily out of my chair.

“Was the poor little girl jealous?” he drawled, with his face pressed close to mine.  “Well, she shall never have to be jealous again.  We won’t live in Marvin, naughty old town, full of beautiful models.  We’ll just go over to Hackensack or some nice respectable place like that.”