If I were his wife, she said, it might be well, but since it is
not so, I must not be dependent.
Foolish Suzette again! She did not know that men love best where they
most protect. The wife who comes with a dower may climb as high as her
husband's pocket, but seldom lies snugly at his heart. Her changed
conduct did not draw him closer to her. He felt uneasy and unworthy. He
missed the artfulness which had been so winning. He had jealousies no
longer to keep his passion quick, for he could not doubt her devotion.
There was nothing to lack in Suzette, and that was a fault. She had
become modest, docile, truthful, grave. A noble man might have
appreciated her the better. Ralph Flare was a representative man, and he
did not.
His friends in America thought his copy from Rembrandt wonderful. Their
flattery made his ambition glow and flame. His mother, whose woman's
instinct divined the cause of his delay in Paris, sent him a pleading
letter to go southward; and thus reprimanded, praised, rewarded, what
was he to do?
He resolved to leave France--and without Suzette!
He had not courage to tell her that the separation was final. He spoke
of an excursion merely, and took but a handful of baggage. She had
doubts that were like deaths to her; but she believed him, and after a
feverish night went with him in the morning to the train.
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