In
your case I should say that Penelope represents a return to sanity
--to the ordinary ways of life."
Mr. Sabin and Lucille exchanged swift glances. He raised his
eyebrows.
"Our little idyll," he said, "seems to be the sport and buffet of
every one. You forget that I am of the old world. I do not
understand modernity."
"Ulysses," she answered, "was of the old world, yet he was a
wanderer in more senses of the word than one. And there have been
times--"
Her eyes sought his. He ignored absolutely the subtlety of meaning
which lurked beneath the heavy drooping eyelids.
"One travels through life," he answered, "by devious paths, and a
little wandering in the flower-gardens by the way is the lot of every
one. But when the journey is over, one's taste for wandering has
gone--well, Ulysses finished his days at the hearth of Penelope."
She rose and walked away. Mr. Sabin sat still and watched her as
though listening to the soft sweep of her gown upon the carpet.
"Hateful woman!" Lucille exclaimed lightly. "To make love, and
such love, to one's lawful husband before one's face is a little
crude, don't you think?"
He shook his head.
"Too obvious," he answered. "She is playing the Prince's game.
Dear me, how interesting this will be soon."
She nodded. A faint smile of bitterness had stolen into her tone.
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