At first one thinks they are simply angels to their wives, working
all day long down town like that--they seem a race of predestined
husbands. If one wanted a husband who spent his entire day away from one
and was too tired when he came in to talk of anything but a few sentences
on Wall Street affairs, one would certainly choose a rich American, because
he would load one with money and jewels, and absolutely obey one when he
was at home, and let one spend most of the time in Europe. But Mrs. Van
Brounker-Courtfield says all that is only a sop to Cerberus, to keep the
wives from grumbling at not being made love to like women of other nations
are; that all men are hunters, and while ours in England chase foxes and
are thrilled with politics the New Yorkers hunt dollars, and it is the same
thing. Wall Street is their adored mistress, and the wives are just their
family. As you were married such ages ago I don't know if you quite
understand what I mean about men, Mamma, and the effect they have on one.
There are creatures who,--the moment they come into the room you know they
are there. You _know_ it isn't a woman. It is not an intellectual or
soul feeling, but it is rather lovely, all the same, and although I am
furious with Harry and intend to be horrid to him, I must say he has this
power stronger than anyone I have ever met; when he is close to me I have a
kind of creep of pleasure, and when he kisses those little curls at the
back of my neck I feel thrills all down my back.
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