Yes, how is my dear mother? She put all her money into French war bonds. Yes, she did. Probably the only person in the world that did. âAnd what about Robert?â or else very careful talking around Robert. âYou must be most careful not to mention him, my dear. Poor Frances has had a most unfortunate experience.â Wonât it be fun, Robert? Donât you think it will be fun, Jake?â
She turned to me with that terribly bright smile. It was very satisfactory to her to have an audience for this.
âAnd where are you going to be, Robert? Itâs my own fault, all right. Perfectly my own fault. When I made you get rid of your little secretary on the magazine I ought to have known youâd get rid of me the same way. Jake doesnât know about that. Should I tell him?â
âShut up, Frances, for Godâs sake.â
âYes, Iâll tell him. Robert had a little secretary on the magazine. Just the sweetest little thing in the world, and he thought she was wonderful, and then I came along and he thought I was pretty wonderful, too. So I made him get rid of her, and he had brought her to Provincetown from Carmel when he moved the magazine, and he didnât even pay her fare back to the coast. All to please me. He thought I was pretty fine, then. Didnât you, Robert?
âYou mustnât misunderstand, Jake, it was absolutely platonic with the secretary. Not even platonic. Nothing at all, really. It was just that she was so nice. And he did that just to please me. Well, I suppose that we that live by the sword shall perish by the sword. Isnât that literary, though? You want to remember that for your next book, Robert.
âYou know Robert is going to get material for a new book. Arenât you, Robert? Thatâs why heâs leaving me. Heâs decided I donât film well. You see, he was so busy all the time that we were living together, writing on this book, that he doesnât remember anything about us. So now heâs going out and get some new material. Well, I hope he gets something frightfully interesting.
âListen, Robert, dear. Let me tell you something. You wonât mind, will you? Donât have scenes with your young ladies. Try not to. Because you canât have scenes without crying, and then you pity yourself so much you canât remember what the other personâs said. Youâll never be able to remember any conversations that way. Just try and be calm. I know itâs awfully hard. But remember, itâs for literature. We all ought to make sacrifices for literature. Look at me. Iâm going to England without a protest. All for literature. We must all help young writers. Donât you think so, Jake? But youâre not a young writer. Are you, Robert? Youâre thirty-four. Still, I suppose that is young for a great writer. Look at Hardy. Look at Anatole France. He just died a little while ago. Robert doesnât think heâs any good, though. Some of his French friends told him. He doesnât read French very well himself. He wasnât a good writer like you are, was he, Robert? Do you think he ever had to go and look for material? What do you suppose he said to his mistresses when he wouldnât marry them? I wonder if he cried, too? Oh, Iâve just thought of something.â She put her gloved hand up to her lips. âI know the real reason why Robert wonât marry me, Jake. Itâs just come to me. Theyâve sent it to me in a vision in the Café Select. Isnât it mystic? Someday theyâll put a tablet up. Like at Lourdes. Do you want to hear, Robert? Iâll tell you. Itâs so simple. I wonder why I never thought about it. Why, you see, Robertâs always wanted to have a mistress, and if he doesnât marry me, why, then heâs had one. She was his mistress for over two years. See how it is? And if he marries me, like heâs always promised he would, that
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