Sleeping Fires: A Novel | Page 6

of intellectual criticism, made the formal life of her
brief past appear dull and drab in the retrospect. The spirit of
Puritanism seemed to have lost heart in those trackless wastes between
the Atlantic and the Pacific and turned back. True, the moral code was
rigid (on the surface); but far from too much enjoyment of life, of
quaffing eagerly at the brimming cup, being sinful, they would have
held it to be a far greater sin not to have accepted all that the genius of
San Francisco so lavishly provided.
Wildness and recklessness were in the air, the night life of San
Francisco was probably the maddest in the world; nor did the gambling
houses close their doors by day, nor the women of Dupont Street cease
from leering through their shuttered windows; a city born in delirium
and nourished on crime, whose very atmosphere was electrified and
whose very foundations were restless, would take a quarter of a century
at least to manufacture a decent thick surface of conventionality, and its
self-conscious respectable wing could no more escape its spirit than its
fogs and winds. But evil excitement was tempered to irresponsible
gaiety, a constant whirl of innocent pleasures. When the spirit passed
the portals untempered, and drove women too highly-strung, too
unhappy, or too easily bored, to the divorce courts, to drink, or to
reckless adventure, they were summarily dropped. No woman, however
guiltless, could divorce her husband and remain a member of that
vigilant court. It was all or nothing. If a married woman were clever
enough to take a lover undetected and merely furnish interesting
surmise, there was no attempt to ferret out and punish her; for no
society can exist without gossip.
But none centered about Madeleine Talbot. Her little coquetries were
impartial and her devotion to her husband was patent to the most
infatuated eye. Life was made very pleasant for her. Howard, during
that first winter, accompanied her to all the dinners and parties, and she
gave several entertainments in her large suite at the Occidental Hotel.
Sally Ballinger was a lively companion for the mornings and was as

devoted a friend as youth could demand. Mrs. Abbott petted her, and
Mrs. Ballinger forgot that she had been born in Boston.
When it was discovered that she had a sweet lyric soprano, charmingly
cultivated, her popularity winged another flight; San Francisco from its
earliest days was musical, and she made a brilliant success as La Belle
Helene in the amateur light opera company organized by Mrs. McLane.
It was rarely that she spent an evening alone, and the cases of books she
had brought from Boston remained in the cellars of the Hotel.

V
Society went to the country to escape the screaming winds and dust
clouds of summer. A few had built country houses, the rest found
abundant amusement at the hotels of The Geysers, Warm Springs and
Congress Springs, taking the waters dutifully.
As the city was constantly swept by epidemics Dr. Talbot rarely left his
post for even a few days' shooting, and Madeleine remained with him
as a matter of course. Moreover, she hoped for occasional long
evenings with her husband and the opportunity to convince him that her
companionship was more satisfying than that of his friends at the Club.
She had not renounced the design of gradually converting him to her
own love of literature, and pictured delightful hours during which they
would discuss the world's masterpieces together.
But he merely hooted amiably and pinched her cheeks when she
approached the subject tentatively. He was infernally over-worked and
unless he had a few hours' relaxation at the Club he would be unfit for
duty on the morrow. She was his heart's delight, the prettiest wife in
San Francisco; he worked the better because she was always lovely at
the breakfast table and he could look forward to a brief dinner in her
always radiant company. Thank God, she never had the blues nor
carried a bottle of smelling salts about with her. And she hadn't a nerve
in her body! God! How he did hate women's nerves. No, she was a
model wife and he adored her unceasingly. But companionship? When

she timidly uttered the word, he first stared uncomprehendingly, then
burst into loud laughter.
"Men don't find companionship in women, my dear. If they pretend to
they're after something else. Take the word of an old stager for that. Of
course there is no such thing as companionship among women as men
understand the term, but you have Society, which is really all you want.
Yearnings are merely a symptom of those accursed nerves. For God's
sake forget them. Flirt all you choose--there are plenty of men in town;
have them in for dinner if you