Free Wives and Lovers by Margaret Millar

All this excitement, getting fired first and then having you appear out of the blue with a wonderful new job—”
    â€œI haven’t found you one yet.”
    â€œBut you will, with all your connections and every­thing.”
    â€œI hope so . . . Meanwhile, you’d better come back to the Beachcomber. At least it’s a living.”
    â€œAll right, if you say so, Mr. Anderson.”
    â€œTomorrow, then.”
    â€œAll right.”
    They shook hands, in a friendly way, and George opened the parlor door. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mrs. Freeman descending on him from the dining room. He walked rapidly in the opposite direction to avoid a meeting.
    â€œIn a hurry, isn’t he?” Mrs. Freeman commented.
    â€œHe’s a very important businessman,” Ruby said. “He’s got things to do.”
    â€œI knew it the minute I looked at him. A businessman, I said to myself. What business?”
    â€œHe owns the Beachcomber.”
    â€œAll by himself?”
    Ruby nodded. Though she knew that George had only a quarter interest in the Beachcomber she didn’t think it worthwhile to mention this to Mrs. Freeman. It was a small point, and Ruby believed that it was ridiculous to keep to the strict facts when a few variations served a better purpose. In this respect she was a true spiritual daughter of the house.
    â€œHe’s got an eye for you,” Mrs. Freeman said, with a satisfied nod. “I could tell it the minute I saw him.”
    â€œOh, that’s silly, I never heard anything so silly.”
    â€œMark my words, he’s a goner.”
    Ruby colored. “Well, I certainly didn’t encourage him.”
    â€œWhy, I bet you could have him in a minute if you just snapped your fingers. Mark my words, I know men and he’s got that look.” It occurred to Mrs. Freeman at this point that possibly George was a married man and that she had gone too far in encouraging Ruby. She added, “If he’s married, well, that’s a horse of another color. I believe in the sanctity of the home and I think that any woman who comes between a man and his wife ought to be horsewhipped.”
    Mrs. Freeman’s eyes hardened, applying the horsewhip to the guilty Ruby. But instead of cringing, Ruby said coldly, “He’s divorced, you don’t have to worry.”
    â€œNot that I was actually worried. I knew as soon as I laid eyes on you that you were a girl that came from a respectable family. There’s a lady, I said to myself.”
    Ruby was unable to resist this blandishment. Over a cup of Mrs. Freeman’s hot, bitter coffee she described her parents and their beautiful home atop Nob Hill whence they could see San Francisco Bay and the Golden Gate. Her father, a retired gentleman of the old school, spent all his time now on his collection of rare stamps and coins. Her mother, who had been a beauty in her youth, was now silver-haired but she still rode every day. She was a brilliant horsewoman.
    â€œI know that horsy set,” Mrs. Freeman contributed.
    â€œI was terribly spoiled. Then one day I guess I just suddenly grew up. I wanted to live my own life and earn my own way. Daddy nearly had a fit and Mummy cried and cried, but it was no use, they couldn’t keep me home. When I make up my mind to do a thing, it’s as good as done. Naturally I’ll go back someday, but not until I’ve proved I can stand on my own feet. And now that Mr. Anderson’s getting me a job as a receptionist, I feel I’m finally getting some place. I suppose I should really sit down right now and write and tell Mummy and Daddy the good news, but I’ve got to dress and meet someone.”
    When Ruby had gone back to her room, Mrs. Freeman poured herself another cup of coffee and sat down at the dining-room table to finish the newspaper.
    â€œWhat a liar,” she said aloud, yet she felt genuinely sorry for Ruby, who was a victim of