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TEE BAREFOOT BOY
41
sunburned in hideous, slack corduroys. She saw the automobiles moving sluggishly along the avenue, the windows like jewels ; now was the teahour in the hotels — orchestras, movement; wonderful gowns drifting by — a lazy tide of pleasure. Tears burned under her lids.
"Oh, God!" moaned Elinor Hastings, hopelessly. ' ' Oh, why did I ever come out here to this hateful country ? I 'm buried alive here — I'm suffocating. He likes it — he wont listen to me!" Her hard-wrung hands pressed a great ring on her fourth finger into the delicate flesh, bruising it. She examined the hurt ; it seemed a symbol. Marriage had bruised her. She had thought it a silken bond, and now she could feel the shackles of it bruising her desires and dreams. Perhaps s h e is not to be blamed wholly. Transplant a hot house rose to a wheat-field — loose a pampered bird into the terrifying freedom of the sky
"Oh, my God! I cant stand it," she moaned for the thousandth time. She hated the low, ugly, board ranch-house, its gracelessness, even her wonderful rose-room in it, whose furniture Walter Hastings had had sent from the East for his bride. She hated the long, empty days, thru which she wandered in terror of loneliness. She was not one who could live inwardly, and now her outward life seemed swept away. She knew nothing of housework — sewing made her nervous; there was no one to admire her new gowns. The papers from home were aggravations, with their tales of dances and dinners dotted with familiar names — her debutante sister Elsa — Harold Rives "arrived" at last
A wail from the house pierced the still, parched air like a needle of sound. She started up in nervous irritation ; then sank back hopelessly. Yes, sometimes she could almost hate her husband and that strange little newcomer in there, whose wee, frail life had nearly cost her own. Again the tears of self-pity drowned her
ELINOR PINES FOR THE GAY LIFE OF HER EASTERN HOME
eyes. It hurt her vanity to remember that she had only herself to blame. The poor, weak, selfish love that was, nevertheless, all she was capable of, she had tossed aside like a crumpled ribbon, and too late she had found that she could not live without it.
A rattle of hard hoofs sounded down the lane. In a cloud of dust her husband wheeled up to the veranda, sprang down and tossed the reins to the disreputable Chinaman who answered his hullo.