After her baby was born she intended to continue her writing; she did not
wish ever to draw on Stefan for her private purse. So far at least, she
would live up to feminist principles.
There was much to be done before they could leave the city, and Mary had
practically no assistance from Stefan in her arrangements. She would ask
his advice about the packing or disposal of a piece of furniture, and he
would make some suggestion, often impracticable; but on any further
questioning he would run his hands through his hair, or thrust them into
his pockets, looking either vague or nervous. "Why fuss about such
things, dear?" or "Do just as you like," or "I'm sure I haven't a
notion," were his most frequent answers. He developed a habit of leaving
his work and following Mary restlessly from room to room as she packed or
sorted, which she found rather wearing.
On one such occasion--it was the day before they were to leave--she was
carrying a large pile of baby's clothes from her bedroom to a trunk in
the sitting-room, while Stefan stood humped before the fireplace,
smoking. As she passed him he frowned nervously.
"How heavily you tread, Mary," he jerked out. She stood stock-still and
flushed painfully.
"I think, Stefan," she said, with the tears of feeling which came over-
readily in these days welling to her eyes, "instead of saying that you
might come and help me to carry these things.
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