"Not if you think she will not be back till late," adding, as if suddenly aware of some discourtesy in his speech, "and I should miss the pleasure of walking home with you." Edna locked the door and put the key back in its hiding-place.
They went together, picking their way across muddy streets and sidewalks encumbered with the cheap display of small tradesmen.Part of the distance they rode in the car, and after disembarking, passed the Pontellier mansion, which looked broken and half torn asunder.Robert had never known the house, and looked at it with interest.
"I never knew you in your home," he remarked."I am glad you did not.""Why?" She did not answer.They went on around the corner, and it seemed as if her dreams were coming true after all, when he followed her into the little house.
"You must stay and dine with me, Robert.You see I am all alone, and it is so long since I have seen you.There is so much I want to ask you."She took off her hat and gloves.He stood irresolute, making some excuse about his mother who expected him; he even muttered something about an engagement.She struck a match and lit the lamp on the table; it was growing dusk.When he saw her face in the lamp-light, looking pained, with all the soft lines gone out of it, he threw his hat aside and seated himself.
"Oh! you know I want to stay if you will let me!" he exclaimed.All the softness came back.She laughed, and went and put her hand on his shoulder.
"This is the first moment you have seemed like the old Robert.I'll go tell Celestine." She hurried away to tell Celestine to set an extra place.She even sent her off in search of some added delicacy which she had not thought of for herself.And she recommended great care in dripping the coffee and having the omelet done to a proper turn.
When she reentered, Robert was turning over magazines, sketches, and things that lay upon the table in great disorder.He picked up a photograph, and exclaimed:
"Alcee Arobin!What on earth is his picture doing here?""I tried to make a sketch of his head one day," answered Edna, "and he thought the photograph might help me.It was at the other house.I thought it had been left there.I must have packed it up with my drawingmaterials."
"I should think you would give it back to him if you have finished withit."
"Oh!I have a great many such photographs.I never think ofreturning them.They don't amount to anything." Robert kept on looking at the picture.
"It seems to me--do you think his head worth drawing? Is he a friend of Mr.Pontellier's? You never said you knew him.""He isn't a friend of Mr.Pontellier's; he's a friend of mine.I always knew him--that is, it is only of late that I know him pretty well.But I'd rather talk about you, and know what you have been seeing and doing and feeling out there in Mexico." Robert threw aside the picture.
"I've been seeing the waves and the white beach of Grand Isle; the quiet, grassy street of the Cheniere; the old fort at Grande Terre.I've been working like a machine, and feeling like a lost soul.There was nothing interesting."She leaned her head upon her hand to shade her eyes from the light."And what have you been seeing and doing and feeling all thesedays?" he asked.
"I've been seeing the waves and the white beach of Grand Isle; the quiet, grassy street of the Cheniere Caminada; the old sunny fort at Grande Terre.I've been working with a little more comprehension than a machine, and still feeling like a lost soul.There was nothing interesting.""Mrs.Pontellier, you are cruel," he said, with feeling, closing his eyes and resting his head back in his chair.They remained in silence till old Celestine announced dinner.
