"What have you been doing to her, Pontellier?" "Doing!Parbleu!""Has she," asked the Doctor, with a smile, "has she been associating of late with a circle of pseudo-intellectual women--super-spiritual superior beings? My wife has been telling me about them.""That's the trouble," broke in Mr.Pontellier, "she hasn't been associating with any one.She has abandoned her Tuesdays at home, has thrown over all her acquaintances, and goes tramping about by herself, moping in the street-cars, getting in after dark.I tell you she's peculiar.I don't like it; I feel a little worried over it."This was a new aspect for the Doctor."Nothing hereditary?" he asked, seriously."Nothing peculiar about her family antecedents, is there?""Oh, no, indeed! She comes of sound old Presbyterian Kentucky stock.The old gentleman, her father, I have heard, used to atone for hisweekday sins with his Sunday devotions.I know for a fact, that his race horses literally ran away with the prettiest bit of Kentucky farming land I ever laid eyes upon.Margaret--you know Margaret--she has all the Presbyterianism undiluted.And the youngest is something of a vixen.By the way, she gets married in a couple of weeks from now.""Send your wife up to the wedding," exclaimed the Doctor, foreseeing a happy solution."Let her stay among her own people for a while; it will do her good.""That's what I want her to do.She won't go to the marriage.She says a wedding is one of the most lamentable spectacles on earth.Nice thing for a woman to say to her husband!" exclaimed Mr.Pontellier, fuming anew at the recollection.
"Pontellier," said the Doctor, after a moment's reflection, "let your wife alone for a while.Don't bother her, and don't let her bother you.Woman, my dear friend, is a very peculiar and delicate organism--a sensitive and highly organized woman, such as I know Mrs.Pontellier to be, is especially peculiar.It would require an inspired psychologist to deal successfully with them.And when ordinary fellows like you and me attempt to cope with their idiosyncrasies the result is bungling.Most women are moody and whimsical.This is some passing whim of your wife, due to some cause or causes which you and I needn't try to fathom.But it will pass happily over, especially if you let her alone.Send her around to see me.""Oh! I couldn't do that; there'd be no reason for it," objected Mr.Pontellier.
"Then I'll go around and see her," said the Doctor."I'll drop in to dinner some evening en bon ami.
"Do! by all means," urged Mr.Pontellier."What evening will you come? Say Thursday.Will you come Thursday?" he asked, rising to take his leave.
"Very well; Thursday.My wife may possibly have some engagement for me Thursday.In case she has, I shall let you know.Otherwise, you may expect me."Mr.Pontellier turned before leaving to say:
"I am going to New York on business very soon.I have a big scheme on hand, and want to be on the field proper to pull the ropes and handle the ribbons.We'll let you in on the inside if you say so, Doctor," he laughed.
"No, I thank you, my dear sir," returned the Doctor."I leave such ventures to you younger men with the fever of life still in your blood.""What I wanted to say," continued Mr.Pontellier, with his hand on the knob; "I may have to be absent a good while.Would you advise me to take Edna along?""By all means, if she wishes to go.If not, leave her here.Don't contradict her.The mood will pass, I assure you.It may take a month, two, three months--possibly longer, but it will pass; have patience.""Well, good-by, a jeudi, " said Mr.Pontellier, as helet himself out.The Doctor would have liked during the course of conversation to ask,"Is there any man in the case?" but he knew his Creole too well to make such a blunder as that.
He did not resume his book immediately, but sat for a while meditatively looking out into the garden.
