People had accepted him
and liked him as well as they liked the totally uninteresting of the good
old stock; but many would drift into the habit of not inviting him to
anything but large dances, if his wife were absent. Alexina knew that her
invitations to all important and many small dinners, not avowedly bridge
or poker parties, were as inevitable as crab in season; but there were too
many young men whom girls would infinitely prefer to enliven the monotony
of crab a la poulette, to any married man, particularly one who had as
little to say as poor Morty. She had known debutantes who flatly refused to
dance with married men or even to be introduced to them.
California was her fate. No doubt of that. She might never see Europe
again, for while it was all very well to be a guest once it would be quite
impossible another time. She certainly could not afford it herself and keep
Ballinger House open, even for brief summer visits; as she might if her
home were in New York.
Of course Mortimer might make his million, but then again he might not.
Certainly there were no present signs of it and she had never seen him so
depressed, not even during the panic of nineteen-seven. His eyes were as
lifeless as slate, his voice was flat, although for that matter he was
almost dumb. When at home he sat brooding heavily by the open western
windows of the drawing-room, or moved restlessly about.
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