And Leo Ulford had repeated the description to
her. She had deceived him into thinking that she had known of the
supper-party and approved of it. But, after this deception, she had given
a looser rein to her temper. She had let herself go, careless whether she
set the poor pink eyelids of Mrs. Leo fluttering or not.
The hint of Fritz which she recognised in Leo Ulford had vaguely
attracted her to him from the first. How her world would have laughed at
such a domestic sentiment! She found herself wondering whether it were
Miss Schley's physical resemblance to her which had first attracted
Fritz, the touch of his wife in a woman who was not his wife and who was
what men call "a rascal." Perhaps Fritz loved Miss Schley's imitation of
her. She thought a great deal about that--turning it over and over in her
mind, bringing to bear on it the white light of her knowledge of her
husband's character. Did he see in the American his wife transformed,
made common, sly, perhaps wicked, set on the outside edge of decent life,
or further--over the border? And did he delight in that? If so, ought she
not to--? Then her mind was busy. Should she change? If herself changed
were his ideal, why not give him what he wanted? Why let another woman
give it to him? But at this point she recognised a fact recognised by
thousands of women with exasperation, sometimes with despair--that men
would often hate in their wives the thing that draws them to women not
their wives.
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