With this had come a certain
thoughtfulness in small attentions, which, I saw too late, Anne must
always have missed in him. She was so much more competent in the
smaller achievements of life than he that it had been wisdom to leave
them to her; and Anne had often traveled alone and attended to the
luggage, when now Rose was personally conducted like a young empress.
The explanation was simple enough: Anne had the ability to do it,
and the other had not. Even if I had stopped to think, I might fairly
have supposed that Anne would find some flattery in the contrast. I
should have been wrong.
Almost the first thing she asked me was whether he came home to
luncheon. In old times, though his house was only a few blocks from
his office, he had always insisted that it took too much time. Anne
had never gained her point with him, though she put some force into
the effort. Now I had to confess he did.
"It's much better for him," she said with pleasure, and quite
deceived me; herself, too, perhaps.
Yet even I, for all my blindness, felt some uneasiness the year
Rose's son was born. I do not think the desire for offspring had
ever taken up a great deal of room in Julian's consciousness, but of
course Anne had wanted children, and I felt very cruel, sitting in
her little apartment in Paris, describing the baby who ought to have
been hers.
Pages:
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273