She looked at him in wonder."Like what? The play?" She drew a long breath."I feel as if it had almost killed me."He understood when they were in their room and she could hardly undress before falling into a sleep so relaxed, so profound, that it made him a little uneasy.It seemed to him the exhaustion of a child worn out with the excitement of a spectacle.And her failure to go into ecstasies the next day led him further into the same error."Modjeska is very good as _Magda_," said he, carelessly, as one talking without expecting to be understood."But they say there's an Italian woman--Duse--who is the real thing."Modjeska--Duse--Susan seemed indeed not to understand."I hated her father," she said."He didn't deserve to have such a wonderful daughter."Spenser had begun to laugh with her first sentence.At the second he frowned, said bitterly: "I might have known! You get it all wrong.I suppose you sympathize with _Magda_?""I worshiped, her " said Susan, her voice low and tremulous with the intensity of her feeling.
Roderick laughed bitterly."Naturally," he said."You can't understand."An obvious case, thought he.She was indeed one of those instances of absolute lack of moral sense.Just as some people have the misfortune to be born without arms or without legs, so others are doomed to live bereft of a moral sense.A sweet disposition, a beautiful body, but no soul; not a stained soul, but no soul at all.And his whole mental attitude toward her changed; or, rather, it was changed by the iron compulsion of his prejudice.The only change in his physical attitude--that is, in his treatment of her--was in the direction of bolder passion.
of complete casting aside of all the restraint a conventional respecter of conventional womanhood feels toward a woman whom he respects.So, naturally, Susan, eager to love and to be loved, and easily confusing the not easily distinguished spiritual and physical, was reassured.Once in a while a look or a phrase from him gave her vague uneasiness; but on the whole she felt that, in addition to clear conscience from straightforwardness, she had a further reason for being glad Chance had forced upon her the alternative of telling him or lying.She did not inquire into the realities beneath the surface of their life--neither into what he thought of her, nor into what she thought of him--thought in the bottom of her heart.She continued to fight against, to ignore, her feeling of aloneness, her feeling of impending departure.
She was aided in this by her anxiety about their finances.In his efforts to place his play he was spending what were for them large sums of money--treating this man and that to dinners, to suppers--inviting men to lunch with him at expensive Broadway restaurants.She assumed that all this was necessary; he said so, and he must know.He was equally open-handed when they were alone, insisting on ordering the more expensive dishes, on having suppers they really did not need and drink which she knew she would be better off without--and, she suspected, he also.It simply was not in him, she saw, to be careful about money.She liked it, as a trait, for to her as to all the young and the unthinking carelessness about money seems a sure, perhaps the surest, sign of generosity--when in fact the two qualities are in no way related.Character is not a collection of ignorant impulses but a solidly woven fabric of deliberate purposes.
Carelessness about anything most often indicates a tendency to carelessness about everything.She admired his openhanded way of scattering; she wouldn't have admired it in herself, would have thought it dishonest and selfish.But Rod was different._He_ had the "artistic temperament," while she was a commonplace nobody, who ought to be--and was--grateful to him for allowing her to stay on and for making such use of her as he saw fit.Still, even as she admired, she saw danger, grave danger, a disturbingly short distance ahead.He described to her the difficulties he was having in getting to managers, in having his play read, and the absurdity of the reasons given for turning it down.He made light of all these; the next manager would see, would give him a big advance, would put the play on--and then, Easy Street!
But experience had already killed what little optimism there was in her temperament--and there had not been much, because George Warham was a successful man in his line, and successful men do not create or permit optimistic atmosphere even in their houses.
Nor had she forgotten Burlingham's lectures on the subject with illustrations from his own spoiled career; she understood it all now--and everything else he had given her to store up in her memory that retained everything.With that philippic against optimism in mind, she felt what Spenser was rushing toward.She made such inquiries about work for herself as her inexperience and limited opportunities permitted.She asked, she begged him, to let her try to get a place.He angrily ordered her to put any such notion out of her head.After a time she nerved herself again to speak.Then he frankly showed her why he was refusing.
