Bedelia Read Online Free PDF

which Bedelia had renamed “Charlie’s den.” Bedelia brought ashtrays for the men.
    â€œProbably you’d like one, too,” she said, and fetched another for Abbie.
    â€œHow did you know my guilty secret?”
    â€œYou smoked at the Waldorf-Astoria that day.”
    â€œWere you shocked?” sighed Abbie hopefully.
    Bedelia shook her head. “When you’ve lived among artists, you’re not shocked at anything. But at the Waldorf the peoplelook so respectable that I was afraid you were making yourself conspicuous.”
    Charlie had filled his pipe and was about to light it when he remembered Ben’s gift. He ought to smoke a cigar, he reflected bitterly, to show appreciation. As he went off to fetch the box, he wondered at Ben’s thoughtlessness. They had often smoked together and Ben ought to have noticed that Charlie cared only for his pipes.
    He offered the box to Ben, who took a cigar. “That’s funny,” Charlie said to himself, “he doesn’t usually smoke them either.” Both men clipped off the ends and lit their cigars as if it were a regular habit. The room became fragrant with the smoke.
    â€œI do admire your taste, Mr. Chaney,” Abbie said. “Those are grand cigars.”
    â€œHow do you know?” Ellen asked tartly.
    â€œIf you’d been with men as much as I have, dear, you’d recognize the smell of a good cigar. Isn’t that so, Bedelia?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    Bedelia sat stiffly at the edge of the leather chair, her hands gripping the arms. All the color had been drained out of her face and her eyes had become wary. They were all looking at her and she seemed to be defending herself against their scrutiny. Her voice, giving answer to Abbie’s simple question, had been sharp with terror.
    BEDELIA CAME INTO the bedroom. Her hair hung loose. She had on a dressing-gown of royal blue challis printed with roses and bound in rose-colored ribbon. Charlie caught her in his arms and embraced her.
    â€œYou smell so sweet. Your skin smells like honey.”
    Every night Charlie said this and every night Bedelia told him it was her skin cream. The repetition did not irritate them, for they were still in love. Every trifling incident had either the charm or novelty or the comfort of repetition.
    â€œWell, Christmas is over,” she said.
    â€œA happy Christmas?”
    â€œYes, honey, of course.”
    The blank look had come into her eyes again, and Charlie wondered if she was thinking of Raoul Cochran. There were times when he suffered keen jealousy, when he resented all of her past life, every experience which had not been shared with him, even the poverty and mourning.
    â€œBetter than last Christmas?”
    Bedelia’s eyes met Charlie’s and she said reproachfully, “Oh, darling.”
    â€œLast Christmas you were picking roses.” She was silent and he went on. “My mother was ill,” as though he were angry with Bedelia for having enjoyed the sunshine and flowers and breakfast on a balcony while his mother suffered in this very room.
    His wife untied the rose-colored ribbons and took off her challis robe. Her corset cover and knickers were of fine muslin, lightly starched, embroidered and run through with pink ribbons. Charlie watched with pleasure as she untied the bows and whisked the tiny pearl buttons through minute buttonholes.
    As she loosened her corset laces, she walked toward the pier glass. “I am getting stouter.”
    â€œIt’s becoming.”
    â€œIn a few weeks I’ll begin to show.”
    Charlie went off to the bathroom to wash and brush his teeth. When he came back, Bedelia was in bed, her hair loose on the pillow. His mother had always braided her hair at night, straining it back from a bulging forehead. For Charlie, his wife’s careless tresses had sluttish charm. Her bedroom slippers were of rose-colored satin with French heels. Her