A Respectable Woman

by Kate Chopin

A Respectable Woman by Kate Chopin

Mrs. Baroda was a little annoyed to find out that her husband, Gaston, expected his friend, Gouvernail, to spend a week or two on the plantation.

They’d had many guests during the winter and they had also spent a lot of time in New Orleans enjoying themselves, always with other people. She was looking forward to a time of unbroken rest and undisturbed little chats with her husband, when he told her that Gouvernail was coming to stay.

This was a man she had heard much about but never seen. He had been her husband's college friend, was now a journalist and in no way "a man about town," which were, perhaps, two of the reasons she had never met him. But she had formed an image of him without realising. She pictured him as tall, slim, critical, with glasses and his hands always in his pockets. And she did not like him. Gouvernail was, in fact, slim enough, but he wasn't very tall nor very critical; neither did he wear glasses nor put his hands in his pockets. And she rather liked him when he was first introduced to her.

But why she liked him she could not explain to herself. She could discover none of those brilliant and promising traits which her husband had promised that he possessed. On the contrary, he sat silent before her chatty eagerness to make him feel at home and in the face of her husband's frank hospitality. He was as polite to her as the most exacting woman could want; but he did not seem to need her liking or even respect.

When he had settled at the plantation, he liked to sit on the wide veranda in the shade, smoking his cigar lazily and listening attentively to Gaston's experience as a sugar planter.

"This is what I call living," he would say with deep happiness, as the air from the sugar field kissed him with its warm touch. It also pleased him to get on familiar terms with the big dogs that came to him, pushing themselves sociably against his legs. He did not care to fish or hunt, when Gaston suggested doing so.

Gouvernail's personality puzzled Mrs. Baroda, but she liked him. Indeed, he was a lovable man. After a few days, when she could understand him no better than at first, she gave up being puzzled but remained annoyed at his being there. In this mood she left her husband and her guest, for the most part, alone together. Then finding that Gouvernail was not annoyed by this, she forced herself on him, accompanying him on his strolls. She constantly tried to get inside his quietness.

"When is he going – your friend?" she one day asked her husband. "He makes me very tired."

"Not for a week yet, dear. I can't understand; he gives you no trouble."

"No. I’d like him better if he did; if he were more like other people and I had to plan for his comfort and enjoyment."

Gaston took his wife's pretty face between his hands and looked tenderly and laughingly into her troubled eyes.

They were getting ready for dinner together in Mrs. Baroda's room.

"You are full of surprises," he said to her. "Even I can never count on how you’re going to behave." He kissed her and turned to the mirror.

"Here you are," he went on, "taking poor Gouvernail seriously and making a fuss over him, the last thing he would want or expect."

"Fuss!" she hotly replied. "Nonsense! How can you say such a thing? Fuss! But, you know, you said he was clever."

"So he is. But the poor man is run down by overwork now. That's why I asked him here to take a rest."

"You used to say he was a man of ideas," she retorted. "I expected him to be interesting, at least. I'm going to the city in the morning to have my dresses made. Let me know when Mr. Gouvernail is gone. I’ll be at my Aunt Octavie's."

That night she went and sat alone on a bench that stood beneath a tree.

She had never known her thoughts or her plans to be so confused. She could understand nothing from them but the feeling that she absolutely must leave her home in the morning.

Mrs. Baroda heard footsteps on the path nearby, but could only make out in the darkness the red point of a lighted cigar. She knew it was Gouvernail, because her husband did not smoke. She hoped to remain unnoticed, but her white dress was too obvious. He threw away his cigar and sat on the bench beside her, without a thought that she might object to him being there.

"Your husband told me to bring this to you, Mrs. Baroda," he said, handing her a white scarf for her head and shoulders. She accepted the scarf from him with a murmur of thanks.

He made some ordinary remark about the night air at that time of year. Then as he gazed into the darkness, he murmured, half to himself:

"Night of south winds – night of the large few stars!"

She made no reply, as he hadn’t seemed to speak to her directly.

Gouvernail was not a self-conscious man. Sitting there beside Mrs. Baroda, his silence melted for a time.

He talked freely in a low, hesitating voice that was pleasant to hear. He talked of the old college days when he and Gaston had meant a good deal to each other, of the days of high ambitions and large intentions. Now there was left only a desire to exist, with now and then a little perfume of real life, such as he was breathing now.

Her mind only vaguely grasped what he was saying. She was not thinking of his words, only drinking in his voice. She wanted to reach out her hand in the darkness and touch him with the sensitive tips of her fingers on the face or the lips. She wanted to move close to him and whisper against his cheek – she did not care what – as she might have done if she had not been a respectable woman.

The stronger the impulse grew, the further, in fact, she moved away from him. As soon as she could do so without an appearance of too great rudeness, she got up and left him there alone.

Before she reached the house, Gouvernail had lit a fresh cigar.

Mrs. Baroda wanted to tell her husband – who was also her friend – about the madness that had taken hold of her that night. But she did not. Besides being a respectable woman she was a very sensible one and she knew there are some battles in life which a woman must fight alone.

When Gaston got up in the morning, his wife had already left. She had taken an early morning train to the city. She did not return till Gouvernail was no longer there.

There was some talk of having him back during the summer that followed. That is, Gaston greatly wanted to, but his wife was very much against it.

However, before the year ended, she suggested having Gouvernail visit them again. Her husband was surprised and delighted with the suggestion coming from her.

"I am glad to know that you have finally got over your dislike of him. Really he did not deserve it."

"Oh," she told him, laughingly, after pressing a long, tender kiss on his lips, "I have got over everything! You will see. This time I shall be very nice to him."