For the first time she recognized anew the symptoms of infatuation which she felt incipiently as a child, as a girl in her earliest teens, and later as a young woman.
Every one seemed to take for granted that she missed him. Even her husband, when he came down the Saturday following Robert’s departure, expressed regret that he had gone.
Mr. Pontellier was very fond of walking about his house examining its various appointments and details, to see that nothing was amiss. He great valued his possessions, chiefly because they were his, and derived genuine pleasure from contemplating a painting, a statuette, a rare lace curtain—no matter what—after he had bought it and placed it among his household gods.
In a sweeping passion she seized a glass vase from the table and flung it upon the tiles of the hearth. She wanted to destroy something. The crash and clatter were what she wanted to hear.
Her husband left her alone as she requested, and went away to his office. Edna went up to her atelier—a bright room at the top of the home. She was working with great energy and interest, without accomplishing anything, however, which satisfied her even in the smallest degree.