You instinctively
felt that it was a sacred place to the master of the house, in which
he daily sacrificed to one of his chosen deities.
The portly colored waiter, in dress coat and white vest, has just
placed the soup on the table, and Mr. Allen enters, supporting his
wife. He had sort of manly toleration for all her whims and
weaknesses. He had never indulged in any lofty ideas of womanhood, nor
had any special longings for her sympathy and companionship. Business
was the one engrossing thing of his life, and this he honestly
believed woman incapable of, from her very nature. It was true of his
wife, but due to a false education rather than to any innate
difficulties, and he no more expected her to comprehend and sympathize
intelligently with his business operations, than to see her go down to
Wall Street with him wearing his hat and coat.
She had been the leading belle in his set years ago. He had admired
her immensely as a stylish, beautiful woman, and carried her off from
dozens of competitors, who were fortunate in their failure. He always
maintained a show of gallantry and deference; which, though but
veneer, was certainly better than open disregard and brutal neglect.
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