She was not so barbaric as they had feared, but they knew nothing
of her past or of her.
It is not good manners to deal in personal questions; yet how else
could such strangers come to know one another? The Dyckmans were
afraid to quiz her about herself, and she dared not cross-examine
them. They had no common acquaintances or experiences to talk over.
The presence of the servants was depressing, and when the long meal
was over and the four Dyckmans were alone in the drawing-room, they
were less at ease than before. They had not even knives and forks
to play with.
Mrs. Dyckman said at length, "Are you going to the theater, do
you think?"
Jim did not care--or dare--to take his bride abroad just yet.
He shook his head. Mrs. Dyckman tried again:
"Does your wife play--or sing, perhaps?"
"No, thank you," said Kedzie, and sank again.
Mrs. Dyckman was about to ask if she cared for cards, but she was
afraid that she might say yes. She grew so desperate at last that
she made a cowardly escape:
"I think we old people owe it to you youngsters to leave you alone."
She caught up her husband with a glance like a clutching hand, and
he made haste to follow her into the library.
Jim and Kedzie looked at each other sheepishly. Kedzie was taking
her initiation into the appalling boredom that can close down in
a black fog on the homes and souls of the very wealthy. She was
astounded and terrified to realize that there is no essential delight
attending the possession of vast means.
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