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 GLOBAL
PHYSICAL
CLIMATOLOGY
SECOND EDITION

Dennis L. Hartmann
Department of Atmospheric Sciences,
University of Washington, Seattle, WA, USA

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 Preface to the Second Edition

I had not intended that 21 years should pass between the first edition
of this book and the second, but much else has intervened to command
my attention and time. The timing of this second edition is nonetheless
propitious, as I started in earnest just after finishing participation in the
­Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) Working Group I
Fifth Assessment in late 2013. So I had good familiarity with a recent sum-
mary of the state of knowledge as a starting point. Another advantage
of waiting so long is that the easy availability of data sets and modern
tools to manipulate them made it possible for me to make most of the new
­figures myself. The second edition is thus heavy with color figures of data
from observations and models.
The basic outline of the book is the same as that of the first edition,
­except that I have added a new Chapter 8 on natural internal variability
that is captured by the instrumental record. This chapter makes use of some
­statistical and mathematical techniques that I do not explain in detail, but
I feel that by looking at the pictures and trusting me, the student will gain
an intuitive sense of the structures of atmospheric and oceanic variability.
The first seven chapters are suitable for a course for undergraduate science
majors, and the final six chapters are more appropriate for an introductory
overview course for graduate students. When I use the book to teach third-
year atmospheric sciences majors, I go through the first seven chapters and
mix in material from Chapters 9, 12, and 13 to add spice and relevance.
Many people contributed to the second edition. Marc L. Michelsen
made many of the figures in Chapter 6 and on many occasions rescued me
when my own computer skills led me into blind alleys. Bryce E. H ­ arrop
did the radiative–convective equilibrium calculations in C ­ hapters 3
and 13. I wanted to update Manabe and Wetherald (1967) with more phys-
ical clouds, but I have to say that modern calculations are not very differ-
ent from theirs. Paulo Ceppi provided me with multimodel mean data
from CMIP5. Mark D. Zelinka generated some key figures in Chapter 11.
I have made liberal use of figures from the IPCC Fifth Assessment, and
I am grateful to the IPCC authors for producing them and the IPCC for
letting me use them here. I thank all the people who created data sets and
put them on the web in handy format. Some of these are acknowledged in
figure captions.
A number of people have used the first edition over the years and
­provided feedback, and some have used the draft of second edition

ix
x PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

and provided editorial and content suggestions. I will forget to mention

some of them, and for that I apologize. David W. J. Thompson used the
draft of second edition in a class and provided a particularly insightful
critique of the new Chapter 8. Donald J. Wuebbles also used the draft and
provided suggestions and corrections. Tsubasa Kohyama did a very care-
ful edit of most chapters of the second edition. Hansi K. A. Singh read
Chapter 7 and provided comments that improved it. Casey Wall provided
useful suggestions on the later chapters. Sara Berry, Paulo Ceppi, Bryce
­Harrop, Tsubasa Kohyama, Daniel McCoy, and Casey Wall helped with
proof correction. Many students helped me involuntarily by using the
book in class, and I thank them also for the insights I gained from their
work. My present and former graduate students have taught me a lot.
It is also a great boon for me to work in the Department of Atmospheric
­Sciences at the University of Washington, where excellence is combined
with collegiality to good effect.
I am grateful for continued climate research support from the federal
government through the National Science Foundation, National Aeronau-
tics and Space Administration, National Oceanographic and Atmospheric
Administration, and the Department of Energy. Climate research is a pub-
lic good activity and without the support of the US taxpayer we would
know much less about climate and the particular challenges that climate
change presents to the world. Of course, other nations have also contrib-
uted greatly to what we have learned, and US citizens have benefited from
their efforts too.
The dedication of the second edition remains the same as the first – to
my family – who share their love and strengthen my spirit. It is also good
to have great friends and colleagues. Thanks.

Dennis L. Hartmann
Seattle, October 2015
 Preface to the First Edition

The science of climatology began to evolve rapidly in the last third of

the twentieth century. This rapid development arose from several causes.
During this period, the view of Earth from its moon made people more
aware of the exceptional nature of their planetary home at about the same
time that it became widely understood that humans could alter our global
environment. Scientific and technological developments gave us new and
quantitative information on past climate variations, global observations of
climate parameters from space, and computer models with which we could
simulate the global climate system. These new tools together with concern
about global environmental change and its consequences for humanity
caused an increase in the intensity of scientific research about climate.
Modern study of the Earth’s climate system has become an interdisci-
plinary science incorporating the atmosphere, the ocean, and the land sur-
face, which interact through physical, chemical, and biological processes.
A fully general treatment of this system is as yet impossible, because the
understanding of it is just beginning to develop. This textbook provides
an introduction to the physical interactions in the climate system, viewed
from a global perspective. Even this endeavor is a difficult one, since many
earth science subdisciplines must be incorporated, such as dynamic me-
teorology, physical oceanography, radiative transfer, glaciology, hydrol-
ogy, boundary-layer meteorology, and paleoclimatology. To make a book
of manageable size about such a complex topic requires many difficult
choices. I have endeavored to provide a sense of the complexity and inter-
connectedness of the climate problem without going into excessive detail
in any one area. Although the modern approach to climatology has arisen
out of diverse disciplines, a coherent collection of concepts is emerging
that defines a starting point for a distinct science. This textbook is my at-
tempt to present the physical elements of that beginning with occasional
references to where the chemical and biological elements are connected.
This book is intended as a text for upper-division undergraduate physi-
cal science majors and, especially in the later chapters, graduate students.
I have used the first seven chapters as the basis for a 10-week undergrad-
uate course for atmospheric sciences majors. A graduate course can be
fashioned by supplementing the text with readings from the current lit-
erature. Most climatology textbooks are descriptive and written from the
perspective of geographers, but this one is written from the perspective
of a physicist. I have attempted to convey an intuition for the workings

xi
xii Preface to the First Edition

of the climate system that is based on physical principles. When faced

with a choice between providing easy access to an important concept and
providing a rigorous and comprehensive treatment, I have chosen easy ac-
cess. This approach should allow students to acquire the main ideas with-
out great pain. Instructors may choose to elaborate on the presentation
where their personal interests and experience make it desirable to do so.
This book could not have been produced without the assistance of many
people. It evolved from 15 years of teaching undergraduate and graduate
students, and I thank the ATMS 321 and ATMS 571 students at the Univer-
sity of Washington who have endured my experimentation and provided
comments on early drafts of this book. Professor Steve Esbensen and his
AtS 630 class at Oregon State University provided commentary on a near
final draft of Chapters 1–7 in the spring of 1993. Valuable comments and
suggestions on specific chapters were also provided by David S. Battisti,
Robert J. Charlson, James R. Holton, Conway B. Leovy, Gary A. Maykut,
Stephen G. Porter, Edward S. Sarachik, J. Michael Wallace, and Stephen G.
Warren. The encouragement and advice given by James R. Holton were
critical for the completion of this book. Many people contributed graphics,
and I am particularly grateful for the special efforts given by Otis Brown,
Frank Carsey, Jim Coakley, Joey Comiso, Scott Katz, Gary Maykut, Pat
McCormick, Robert Pincus, Norbert Untersteiner, and Stephen Warren.
Grace C. Gudmundson applied her professional editorial skills to this
project with patience, dedication, and good humor. Her efforts greatly im-
proved the quality of the end product. Similarly, Kay M. Dewar’s artistic
and computer skills produced some of the more appealing figures. Marc
L. Michelsen’s genius with the computer extracted data from many digi-
tal archives and converted them into attractive and informative computer
graphics. Luanna Huynh and Christine Rice were especially helpful with
the appendices and tables.
My efforts to understand the climate system have been generously
supported over the years by research grants and contracts from the US
government. I am particularly happy to acknowledge support from the
Climate Dynamics Program in the Atmospheric Sciences Division of the
National Science Foundation, and the Earth Radiation Budget Experiment
and Earth Observing System programs of the National Aeronautics and
Space Administration. I also thank all of my colleagues from whom I have
learned, who have shared their ideas with me, and who have given me the
respect of serious argument.
This book is dedicated to my family, especially my wife, Lorraine, and my
children, Alan and Jennifer, whose love and sacrifice were essential to its com-
pletion. I hope this book will help to explain why I spend so many evenings
and weekends in my study. I thank my parents, Alfred and Angeline, for a
good start in life and support along the way toward happy employment.
Dennis L. Hartmann
 C H A P T E R

1
Introduction to
the Climate System
1.1 ATMOSPHERE, OCEAN, AND LAND SURFACE

Climate is the synthesis of the weather in a particular region. It can be

defined quantitatively by using the expected values of the meteorological
elements at a location during a certain month or season. The expected
values of the meteorological elements can be called the climatic elements
and include variables such as the average temperature, precipitation, wind,
pressure, cloudiness, and humidity. In defining the climate, we usually
employ the values of these elements at the surface of Earth. Thus, one can
characterize the climate of Seattle by stating that the average annual mean
precipitation is 38 in. and the annual mean temperature is 52°F. However,
one might need a great deal more information than the annual means.
For example, a farmer would also like to know how the precipitation is
distributed through the year and how much rain would fall during the
critical summer months. A hydroelectric plant engineer needs to know
how much interannual variability in rainfall and snow accumulation to
expect. A homebuilder should know how much insulation to be installed
and the size of the heating or cooling unit needed to provide for the
weather in the region. Sailors might like to know that the wind blows in
the winter, but not so much in the summer.
The importance of climate is so basic that we sometimes overlook it. If
the climate were not more or less as it is, life and civilization on this planet
would not have developed as they have. The distribution of vegetation
and soil type over the land areas is determined primarily by the local
climate. Climate affects human lives in many ways; for example, climate
influences the type of clothing and housing that people have developed.
In the modern world, with the great technological advances of the past
century, one might think that climate no longer constitutes a force capable
of changing the course of human history. It is apparent, on the contrary,

Global Physical Climatology. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/B978-0-12-328531-7.00001-3

Copyright © 2016 Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

1
2 1. Introduction to the Climate System

that we are as sensitive now as we have ever been to climate fluctuations

and climate change.
Because food, water, and energy supply systems are strained to meet
demand and are optimized to the current average climatic conditions,
fluctuations or trends in climate can cause serious difficulties for humanity.
Moreover, since the population has grown to absorb the maximum
agricultural productivity in much of the world, the absolute number of
human lives at risk of starvation during climatic anomalies has never been
greater. In addition to natural year-to-year fluctuations in the weather, which
are an important aspect of climate, we must be concerned with the effects of
human activities in producing long-term trends in the climate. It is now clear
that humans are affecting the global climate, and this influence is growing.
The actions of humankind that can change the global climate include altering
the composition of the atmosphere and the nature of Earth’s surface.
The surface climate of Earth varies greatly with location, ranging
from the heat of the tropics to the cold of the polar regions, and from
the drought of a desert to the moisture of a rain forest. Nonetheless, the
climate of Earth is favorable for life, and living creatures exist in every
climatic extreme. The climate of a region depends on latitude, altitude,
and orientation in relation to water bodies, mountains, and the prevailing
wind direction. In this book, we are concerned primarily with the global
climate and its geographic variation on scales of hundreds to thousands of
kilometers. In order to focus on these global issues, climate variations on
horizontal spatial scales smaller than several tens of kilometers are given
only minimal discussion.
The climate of Earth is defined in terms of measurable weather elements.
The weather elements of most interest are temperature and precipitation.
These two factors together largely determine the species of plants and
­animals that survive and prosper in a particular location. Other variables
are also important, of course. The humidity, the amount of water vapor in
the air, is a critical climate factor that is related closely to the t­ emperature
and precipitation. Condensation of water in the atmosphere produces
clouds of water droplets or ice particles that greatly change the radiative
properties of the atmosphere. The occurrence of clouds is important in itself
for aviation and other activities, but clouds also play a role in d ­ etermining
both precipitation and surface temperature. Cloudiness influences the
transmission of terrestrial radiation through the atmosphere and the
amount of solar radiation that reaches the surface. The mean wind speed
and direction are important considerations for local climate, air-pollution
dispersion, aviation, navigation, wind energy, and many other purposes.
The climate system of Earth determines the distribution of energy and
water near the surface and consists primarily of the atmosphere, the
oceans, and the land surface. The workings of this global system are
the topic of this book (Fig. 1.1).
 1.2 Atmospheric temperature 3

FIGURE 1.1 Earth as seen on July 6, 2015 by the NASA Earth Polychromatic Imaging
Camera aboard the NOAA Deep Space Climate Observatory spacecraft one million miles
from Earth.

1.2 ATMOSPHERIC TEMPERATURE

Temperature is the most widely recognized climatic variable. The global

average temperature at the surface of Earth is about 288 K, 15°C, or 59°F.
The range of temperatures encountered at the surface is favorable for the
life forms that have developed on Earth. The extremes of recorded surface
temperature range from the coldest temperature of –89.2°C (–128.6°F) at
Vostok, Antarctica to the warmest temperature of 56.7°C (134°F) at Furnace
Creek Ranch in Death Valley, California. These temperature extremes reflect
the well-known decrease of temperature from the tropics, where the warm-
est temperatures occur, to the polar regions that are much colder. Both the
warm temperature in Death Valley and the cold temperature at Vostok also
4 1. Introduction to the Climate System

FIGURE 1.2 The main zones of the atmosphere defined according to the temperature
profile of the standard atmosphere profile at 15°N for annual-mean conditions. Data from
U.S. Standard Atmosphere Supplements (1966).

result partly from the decrease of temperature with altitude because Death
Valley is below sea level and Vostok is 3450 m above sea level.
An important feature of the temperature distribution is the decline of
temperature with height above the surface in the lowest 10–15 km of the
atmosphere (Fig. 1.2). This rate of decline, called the lapse rate, is defined
by

∂T
Γ≡− (1.1)
∂z
where T is the temperature and z is altitude and the deltas indicate a par-
tial derivative. The global mean tropospheric lapse rate is about 6.5 K km–1,
but the lapse rate varies with altitude, season, and latitude. In the upper
stratosphere, the temperature increases with height up to about 50 km. The
increase of temperature with height that characterizes the stratosphere is
caused by the absorption of solar radiation by ozone. Above the strato-
pause at about 50 km the temperature begins to decrease with height in
the mesosphere. The temperature of the atmosphere increases rapidly above
about 100 km because of heating produced by absorption of ultraviolet
radiation from the sun, which dissociates oxygen and nitrogen molecules
and ionizes atmospheric gases in the thermosphere.
The decrease of temperature with altitude in the troposphere is
­crucial to many of the mechanisms whereby the warmth of the surface
­temperature of Earth is maintained. The lapse rate in the troposphere and
the mechanisms that maintain it are also central to the d­ etermination of
 1.2 Atmospheric temperature 5

FIGURE 1.3 Annual mean temperature profiles for the lowest 25 km of the atmosphere
in three latitude bands. Data from ERA-Interim.

climate sensitivity, as discussed in Chapter 10. The lapse rate and

­temperature in the troposphere are determined primarily by a balance
between radiative cooling and convection of heat from the surface. The
vertical distribution of temperature varies with latitude and season. At
the equator, the temperature decreases with altitude up to about 17 km
(Fig. 1.3). The tropical tropopause is the coldest part of the lowest 20 km
of the atmosphere in the annual mean. In middle and high latitudes, the
­temperature of the lower stratosphere is almost independent of height.
The tropospheric lapse rate in polar latitudes is less than it is nearer the
equator. At high latitudes, the temperature actually increases with a­ ltitude
in the lower troposphere in the winter and spring (Fig. 1.4). A region of
negative lapse rate is called a temperature inversion. The polar temperature
inversion has important implications for the climate of the polar regions.
It arises because the surface cools very efficiently through emission of
­infrared radiation in the absence of insolation during the winter darkness.
The air does not emit radiation as efficiently as the surface, and heat trans-
ported poleward in the atmosphere keeps the air in the lower troposphere
warmer than the surface.
The variation of the zonal mean temperature with latitude and altitude
is shown in Fig. 1.5. In Southern Hemisphere winter (June, July, and
August, JJA), the polar stratosphere is colder than 180 K, and is the cold-
est place in the atmosphere, even colder than the tropical tropopause.
The Northern Hemisphere stratosphere does not get as cold, on average,
because planetary Rossby waves generated by surface topography and
east–west surface temperature variations transport heat to the pole during
sudden stratospheric warming events.
6 1. Introduction to the Climate System

FIGURE 1.4 Season variation profiles at 80°N. Data from ERA-Interim.

The geographic and seasonal variation of surface temperature is shown

in Fig. 1.6. The surface temperature is greatest near the equator, where
it exceeds 296 K (23°C) across a broad band of latitudes in all seasons.
Outside this belt, surface temperature decreases steadily toward both
poles. The interiors of the northern continents become very cold during
winter, but they are warmer than ocean areas at the same latitude dur-
ing summer. Seasonal variations of surface temperature in the interiors
of North America and Asia are very large (Fig. 1.6). Seasonal variation in
the Southern Hemisphere is much smaller because of the greater fraction
of the surface covered by ocean. The smaller seasonal variation of air tem-
perature in mid-latitudes of the Southern Hemisphere is associated with
the larger fraction of ocean-covered surface there. The ocean stores heat
very effectively. During the summer season it stores the heat provided
by the sun. Because a large amount of heat is required to raise the surface
temperature of the oceans, the summer insolation raises the surface tem-
perature by only a small amount. During winter, a large amount of heat
is released to the atmosphere with a relatively small change in sea surface
temperature. Land areas heat up and cool down much more quickly than
oceans (see Chapter 4).

1.3 ATMOSPHERIC COMPOSITION

The composition of the atmosphere is a key determinant of Earth’s cli-

mate. The interaction of atmospheric gases with radiant energy modulates
the flow of energy through the climate system. The atmosphere has a mass
of about 5.14 × 1018 kg, which is small compared to the mass of the ocean,
1.39 × 1021 kg, and the solid Earth, 5.98 × 1024 kg. Dry atmospheric air
 1.3 Atmospheric composition 7

FIGURE 1.5 Zonal average temperature (K) as a function of latitude and altitude for
the (a) December, January, February (DJF) and (b) June, July, August (JJA) Seasons. Data
from ERA 40 reanalysis.

is composed mostly of molecular nitrogen (78%) and molecular oxygen

(21%). The next most abundant gas in the atmosphere is argon (1%), an inert
noble gas. The atmospheric gases that are important for the absorption
and emission of radiant energy comprise less than 1% of the atmosphere’s
mass. These include water vapor (3.3 × 10–3 of the atmosphere’s total
mass), carbon dioxide (5.3 × 10–7), and ozone (6.42 × 10–7), in order of
8 1. Introduction to the Climate System

FIGURE 1.6 Global map of the January and July surface temperature and July minus
January. Data from ERA-Interim reanalysis.
 1.4 Hydrostatic balance 9

TABLE 1.1 Composition of the Atmosphere

Chemical Molecular Fraction by Total mass
Constituent formula weight (12C = 12) volume in dry air (g)

Total atmosphere 28.97 5.136 × 1021

Dry air 28.96 100.0 % 5.119 × 1021

Nitrogen N2 28.01 78.08 % 3.87 × 1021

Oxygen O2 31.99 20.95 % 1.185 × 1021

Argon Ar 39.95 0.934 % 6.59 × 1019

Water vapor H2O 18.02 Variable 1.7 × 1019

Carbon dioxide CO2 44.0 391 ppmv* ∼2.76 × 1018

Neon Ne 20.18 18.18 ppmv 6.48 × 1016

Krypton Kr 83.8 1.14 ppmv 1.69 × 1016

Helium He 4.00 5.24 ppmv 3.71 × 1015

Methane CH4 16.04 1.8 ppmv* ∼4.9 × 1015

Xenon Xe 131.3 87 ppbv 2.02 × 1015

Ozone O3 47.99 Variable ∼3.3 × 1015

Nitrous oxide N2O 44.01 324 ppbv* ∼2.3 × 1015

Carbon monoxide CO 28.0 120 ppbv ∼5.9 × 1015

Hydrogen H2 2.02 500 ppbv ∼1.8 × 1014

Ammonia NH3 17.0 100 ppbv ∼3.0 × 1013

Nitrogen dioxide NO2 46.0 1 ppbv ∼8.1 × 1012

Sulfur dioxide SO2 64.1 200 pptv ∼2.3 × 1012

Hydrogen sulfide H2S 34.1 200 pptv ∼1.2 × 1012

CFC-12 CCl2F2 120.9 528 pptv* ∼1.0 × 1013

CFC-11 CCl3F 137.4 238 pptv* ∼6.8 × 1012

* Values of trace constituents valid in 2011 (ppmv = 10−6, ppbv= 10−9, pptv = 10−12).

importance for surface temperature, followed by methane, nitrous oxide,

and a host of other minor species (Table 1.1).

1.4 HYDROSTATIC BALANCE

The atmosphere is composed of gases held close to the surface of the

planet by gravity. The vertical forces acting on the atmosphere at rest are
gravity, which pulls the air molecules toward the center of the planet, and
the pressure gradient force, which tries to push the atmosphere out into
10 1. Introduction to the Climate System

space. These forces are in balance to a very good approximation, and by

equating the pressure gradient force and the gravity force one obtains the
hydrostatic balance. Since force is mass times acceleration, we may express
the vertical force balance per unit mass as an equation between the down-
ward acceleration of gravity, g, and the upward acceleration that would
be caused by the increase of pressure toward the ground, if gravity were
not present to oppose it.

1 dp
g=− (1.2)
ρ dz

For an ideal gas, pressure (p), density (ρ), and temperature (T) are
related by the formula
p = ρ RT (1.3)

where R is the gas constant. After some rearrangement, (1.2) and (1.3) yield
dp dz
=− (1.4)
p H
where
RT
H= = scale height. (1.5)
g

If the atmosphere is isothermal, with temperature ∼260 K, then the tem-

perature and scale height are constant and the hydrostatic equation may
be integrated from the surface, where p = ps = 1.01325 × 105 Pa, to an
arbitrary height, z, yielding an expression for the distribution of pressure
with height.

p = p s e − z/ H (1.6)

The pressure thus decreases exponentially away from the surface, de-
clining by a factor of e−1 = (2.71828)−1 = 0.368 every scale height. The scale
height for the mean temperature of Earth’s atmosphere is about 7.6 km.
Figure 1.7 shows the distribution of atmospheric pressure with altitude.
The pressure is largest at the surface and decreases rapidly with altitude
in accord with the exponential decline given by (1.6). We can rearrange
(1.2) to read
− dp
dm ≡ ρ dz = (1.7)
g

The mass between two altitudes, dm, is related to the pressure change
between those two levels. Because of hydrostatic balance, the total mass of
the atmosphere may be related to the global mean surface pressure.
 1.5 Atmospheric humidity 11

FIGURE 1.7 Vertical distributions of air pressure and partial pressure of water vapor
as functions of altitude for globally and annually averaged conditions. Values have been
normalized by dividing by the surface values of 1013.25 and 17.5 hPa, respectively.

ps
Atmospheric mass = = 1.03 × 10 4 kg m −2 (1.8)
g
The vertical column above every square meter of Earth’s surface con-
tains about 10,000 kg of air.
Because the surface climate is of primary interest, and because the mass
of the atmosphere is confined to within a few scale heights of the surface,
or several tens of kilometers, it is the lower atmosphere that is of most
importance for climate. For this reason, most of this book will be devoted
to processes taking place in the troposphere, at the surface, or in the ocean.
The stratosphere has some important effects on climate, however, and
these will be described where appropriate.

1.5 ATMOSPHERIC HUMIDITY

Atmospheric humidity is the amount of water vapor carried in the air.

It can be measured as vapor pressure, mixing ratio or specific humidity.
Specific humidity is the ratio of vapor mass to total air mass, whereas
mixing ratio is the ratio of the mass of vapor to the mass of dry air. The
atmosphere must carry away the water evaporated from the surface and
supply water to areas of rainfall. Water that flows from the land to the
oceans in rivers was brought to the land areas by transport in the atmo-
sphere as vapor. Atmospheric water vapor is also the most important
greenhouse gas in the atmosphere. Water vapor condenses to form clouds,
12 1. Introduction to the Climate System

FIGURE 1.8 Profiles of specific humidity as a function of pressure, for annual-mean

conditions as (a) Line plots and (b) Contour plot. Data from ERA-Interim.

which can release rainfall and are also extremely important in both reflect-
ing solar radiation and reducing the infrared radiation emitted by Earth.
The partial pressure of water vapor in the atmosphere decreases
very rapidly with altitude (Fig. 1.7). The partial pressure of water vapor
decreases to half of its surface value by 2 km above the surface and to
less than 10% of its surface value at 5 km. Atmospheric water vapor also
decreases rapidly with latitude (Fig. 1.8). The amount of water vapor in
the atmosphere at the equator is nearly 10 times that at the poles.
The rapid upward and poleward decline in water vapor abundance
in the atmosphere is associated with the strong temperature dependence
of the saturation vapor pressure. The vapor pressure in equilibrium with
a wet surface increases very rapidly with temperature. The temperature
dependence of saturation pressure of water vapor over a water surface
is governed by the Clausius–Clapeyron relationship.
des L
= (1.9)
dT T(α v − α l )
In (1.9), es is the saturation vapor pressure above a flat liquid surface,
L is the latent heat of vaporization, T is the temperature in K, and a repre-
sents the specific volume of the vapor av and liquid al forms of water. The
Clausius–Clapeyron relation can be manipulated to express the fraction-
al change of saturation vapor pressure ∆es / es , and thereby the specific
humidity at saturation, q*, to the fractional change of temperature. The
specific humidity is related to the water vapor pressure approximately as
e
q  0.622 .
p
∆ q* ∆ es  L  ∆T ∆T
*
= ≈   = r (1.10)
q es  Rv T  T T
where Rv is the gas constant for water vapor.
 1.6 Atmospheric thermodynamics, vertical stability and lapse rate 13

FIGURE 1.9 Saturation vapor pressure and specific humidity as functions of tempera-
ture at standard pressure.

For terrestrial conditions, T ∼260 K, and the factor r is approximately

20. This means that a 1% change in temperature of about 3 K will result in
a 20% change in the saturation vapor pressure, or about 7% for 1 K. If the
relative humidity (the ratio of the actual specific humidity to the satura-
tion specific humidity) remains fixed, then the actual water vapor in the
atmosphere will increase by 7% for every 1 K temperature increase. This
rapid exponential increase of saturation pressure with temperature can be
seen more explicitly if we consider the approximate solution to (1.9) valid
near standard pressure and temperature of 1013.25 hectoPascals (hPa)
and 273 K.

L  1 1
es ≅ 6.11 i exp   −  (1.11)
 Rv  273 T  

The exponential dependence of the saturation vapor pressure on

temperature expressed by (1.11) is shown in Fig. 1.9.

1.6 ATMOSPHERIC THERMODYNAMICS,

VERTICAL STABILITY AND LAPSE RATE

Conservation of energy is a central constraint on climate, and when

combined with the hydrostatic relationship, it determines much about the
vertical structure of the atmosphere, including the lapse rate.
14 1. Introduction to the Climate System

1.6.1 First Law of Thermodynamics

The first law of thermodynamics states that energy is conserved,
so that for a unit mass of gas, the applied heat dQ is equal to the sum
of the change in internal energy dU and the work done dW. If we a­ ssume
that the external work done by air is only that associated with volume
changes, dW = pda, and we use the definition of the specific heat at
­constant volume cv = (dU / dT )v , we obtain a useful form of the first law
of thermodynamics.
δ Q = cv dT + p dα (1.12)
Here p is pressure, dT is the change in temperature, and da is the change
in specific volume, a. Using the ideal gas law,
p α = RT (1.13)
we may write that,
p dα = R dT − α dp (1.14)
Using (1.14), and
R = cp − cv (1.15)
(1.12) becomes,
δ Q = cp dT − α dp (1.16)
or using (1.13) again,
RT
δ Q = cp dT − dp (1.17)
p

1.6.2 Potential Temperature

An adiabatic process is one for which no heat is added or taken away
so, dQ = 0, and (1.17) can be rearranged to read,

dT R dp
−
T cp p
R −R c
= d ln T − d ln p = d ln T p p = 0
cp
( ) (1.18)

so that for a parcel of gas that undergoes an adiabatic process,

− R cp
Tp = constant (1.19)

If we define Θ to be the temperature at some reference pressure po,

which is usually taken to be 1000 hPa, then the potential temperature Θ is
the temperature a parcel of air would have if it were brought adiabatically
to the reference pressure.
 1.6 Atmospheric thermodynamics, vertical stability and lapse rate 15

R cp
p 
Θ= T  o  (1.20)
 p

1.6.3 Static Stability and the Adiabatic Lapse Rate

The potential temperature is useful because it remains constant as a
parcel undergoes an adiabatic change of pressure. The vertical gradient
of potential temperature determines the dry static stability of the atmo-
sphere. If the potential temperature increases with height, then parcels
raised adiabatically from their initial height will always be colder and
thus denser than their environment and will sink back to their original
pressure. If the potential temperature decreases with height, then parcels
raised up will be warmer than their environment and will be accelerated
upward by buoyancy; therefore, if the potential temperature decreases
with height, the temperature profile is unstable.

dΘ
>0 Stable
dz (1.21)
dΘ
<0 Unstable
dz
The rate at which temperature changes as a parcel moves up or down in
the atmosphere without heating can be derived by using the hydrostatic
equation,
α dp = − g dz (1.22)
in (1.16), and setting dQ = 0, to give
cp dT + gdz = 0 (1.23)
or,

 ∂T  g
− = = Γ d = 9.8 K km −1 (1.24)
 ∂ z  adiabatic cp

1.6.4 Moist Processes and Equivalent Potential Temperature

When moisture is present in air and an air parcel is raised adiabati-
cally, the parcel can become supersaturated such that the water vapor
­condenses and latent heat is released. One can incorporate the latent
heat release as heating in the first law of thermodynamics by writing
the heat release in terms of the change in saturation water vapor ­mixing
­ratio, dq*. The saturated adiabatic lapse rate can then be derived (­Wallace
and Hobbs; 2006).
16 1. Introduction to the Climate System

Γd
Γs =
L dq * (1.25)
1+
cp dT

The saturated adiabatic lapse rate is generally less than the dry a­ diabatic
lapse rate, and becomes smaller as the temperature rises. As a saturated
parcel rises, water condenses, latent heat is released and the parcel cools
more slowly with increasing altitude than an unsaturated or dry parcel.
Another useful quantity is the equivalent potential temperature, which
is the temperature that would be obtained by a moist air parcel if it were
first raised moist-adiabatically until all of its water condensed out, and
then brought adiabatically back to a reference surface pressure.

 L q* 
Θ e = Θ exp   (1.26)
 cp T 

Equivalent potential temperature incorporates the moist static energy

of air parcels in a hydrostatic atmosphere. The moist static energy includes
the sensible, potential, and latent energy per unit mass (1.27).

Moist static energy = cpT + gz + Lq (1.27)

Potential temperature includes the dry static energy, from which the
latent energy in (1.27) is excluded. If the equivalent potential t­ emperature
decreases with height, then the air parcel is only conditionally unstable.
It is unstable only if it becomes saturated. If the equivalent potential
­temperature increases with height, then the parcel is absolutely stable.
The important difference between dry adiabatic ascent and moist
ascent can be illustrated by plotting the dry and moist adiabats for a few
representative cases. The adiabats are the temperature profiles that would
be experienced by parcels as they are raised upward adiabatically from
the surface. Examples of some dry and saturated adiabats are plotted in
Fig. 1.10. Because of the release of latent heat, the temperatures of moist
adiabats decrease less rapidly with height in the lower troposphere, but
become parallel to the dry adiabats at low temperatures where latent heat-
ing is nearly zero, because the saturation vapor pressure is very small.
This difference is particularly evident at high temperatures, where the
saturated parcel starts out at the surface with much more latent energy
and therefore its temperature drops less rapidly with altitude. Because the
curvature of the saturated adiabats increases with temperature, when the
temperature of the saturated parcel at the surface is increased, its tempera-
ture when it arrives at any layer higher in the troposphere is increased by a
larger amount than the surface temperature increase. For example, parcels
started from the surface at 20 and 30°C have temperatures of −45.6 and
−15.5°C when they reach 10 km altitude. The difference of 30°C at 10 km
 1.7 The world ocean 17

FIGURE 1.10 Moist and dry adiabatic temperature profiles. Parcels of air start at
1000 hPa either saturated with water vapor (solid) or completely dry (dashed), and are
raised adiabatically while conserving moist static energy. Starting temperatures of −10, 0, 10,
20 and 30°C are shown.

is three times their difference at the surface. This basic mechanism would
indicate that significant changes in lapse rate and dry static stability
­
should be expected when the climate changes, especially in the tropics
where moist convection strongly controls the temperature profile.

1.7 THE WORLD OCEAN

The atmosphere contains a tiny fraction of the total water in the

c­ limate system, about one part in 105. Most of the surface water of Earth
is contained in the oceans and in ice sheets (Table 1.2). Earth contains

TABLE 1.2 Water on Earth

Depth if spread over the
Water reservoir entire surface of Earth (m) Total (%)

Oceans 2650 97

Icecaps and glaciers 60 2.2

Groundwater 20 0.7

Lakes and streams 0.35 0.013

Soil moisture 0.12 0.013

Atmosphere 0.025 0.0009

Total 2730 100

18 1. Introduction to the Climate System

about 1.35 × 109 km3 of water, of which about 97% is seawater. Since
all the oceans are connected to some degree, we can think of them col-
lectively as the world ocean. The world ocean is a key element of the
physical climate system. Ocean covers about 71% of Earth’s surface to
an average depth of 3730 m. The ocean has tremendous capability to
store and release heat and chemicals on time scales of seasons to cen-
turies. Ocean currents move heat poleward to cool the tropics and
warm the extratropics. The world ocean is the reservoir of water that
supplies ­atmospheric water vapor for rain and snowfall over land. The
ocean plays a key role in determining the composition of the atmosphere
through the exchange of gases and particles across the air–sea interface.
The ocean removes carbon dioxide from the atmosphere and produces
molecular oxygen, and participates in other key geochemical cycles that
regulate the surface environment of Earth.
Temperature in the ocean generally decreases with depth from a
temperature very near that of the surface air temperature to a value
near the freezing point of water in the deep ocean (Fig. 1.11). A thin,
well-mixed surface layer is stirred by winds and waves so efficiently
that its ­temperature and salinity are almost independent of depth. Most
of the temperature change occurs in the thermocline, a region of rapid
temperature change with depth in the first kilometer or so of the ocean.
Below the thermocline is a deep layer of almost uniform temperature. In
middle and high ­latitudes, the mixed layer is thin in summer and deep in
winter (e.g., 45°N in Fig. 1.11).
Salinity of seawater is defined as the number of grams of dissolved salts
in a kilogram of seawater. Salinity in the open ocean ranges from about
33 g kg–1 to 38 g kg–1. In seawater with a salinity of 35 g kg–1, about 30 g kg–1
are composed of sodium and chloride (Table 1.3). Salinity is an i­ mportant

FIGURE 1.11 Annual-mean ocean potential temperature profiles for various latitudes
and as a function of depth in meters for (a) February and (b) August. MIMOC data.
 1.7 The world ocean 19

TABLE 1.3 Concentrations of the Major Components of Sea Water with a Salinity
of 35‰
Component Grams per kilogram

Chloride 19.4

Sodium 10.8

Sulfur 0.91

Magnesium 1.29

Calcium 0.41

Potassium 0.39

Bicarbonate 0.14

Bromide 0.067

Strontium 0.008

Boron 0.004

Fluoride 0.001

contributor to variations in the density of seawater at all latitudes and is

the most important factor in high latitudes and in the deep ocean, where
the temperature is close to the freezing point of water. ­Variations in the
density of seawater drive the deep-ocean circulation, which is critical for
heat storage and transport and for the recirculation of nutrients neces-
sary for life. Salinity of the global ocean varies systematically with lati-
tude in the upper layers of the ocean (Fig. 1.12). In subtropical latitudes
(10–30°), the surface salinity is large because evaporation exceeds pre-
cipitation and leaves the seawater enriched in salt. In middle and high

FIGURE 1.12 Profiles of salinity during February for various locations. MIMOC data.
20 1. Introduction to the Climate System

latitudes, precipitation of freshwater exceeds evaporation, and so surface

salinities are quite low. Near the equator, a thin layer of fresh water from
precipitation sits atop more saline water below. In the deep ocean, s­ alinity
­variations are much smaller than near the surface, because the sources
and sinks of freshwater are at the surface and the deep water comes from
a few areas in high latitudes. The Atlantic is much saltier than the Pacific
at nearly all latitudes and for this reason the formation of cold, salty water
that can sink to the bottom of the ocean is much more prevalent in the
Atlantic than the Pacific (see Chapter 7).

1.8 THE CRYOSPHERE

All of the ice near the surface of Earth is called the cryosphere. About
2% of the water on Earth is frozen, and this frozen water constitutes about
80% of the freshwater. Most of the mass of ice is contained in the great ice
sheets of Antarctica (89%) and Greenland (8.6%) (Table 1.4). For climate,
it is often not the mass of ice that is of primary importance, but rather the
surface area that is covered by ice of any depth. This is because surface ice
of any depth generally is a much more effective reflector of solar radiation
than the underlying surface. Also, sea ice is a good insulator and allows
air temperature to be very different from that of the seawater under just
a few meters of sea ice. Currently, year-round (perennial) ice covers
about 11% of the land area and 7% of the world ocean. During some
­seasons, the amount of land covered by seasonal snow cover exceeds the
­surface area covered by perennial ice cover. The surface areas covered
by ice sheets, seasonal snow, and sea ice are comparable. Ice sheets cover
about 16 × 106 km2, seasonal snow about 50 × 106 km2, and sea ice up to
23 × 106 km2.

1.9 THE LAND SURFACE

Although the land surface covers only 29% of Earth, the climate over
the land surface is extremely important to us because humans are land-
dwelling creatures. Cereal grains are the world’s most important food
source, and supply about half of the world’s calories and much of the pro-
tein. About 80% of the animal protein consumed by humans comes from
meat, eggs, and dairy products, and only 20% from seafood.
Over the land surface, temperature and soil moisture are key deter-
minants of natural vegetation and the agricultural potential of a given
area. Vegetation, snow cover, and soil conditions also affect the local and
 1.9 The land surface 21

TABLE 1.4 Estimated Global Inventory of Land and Sea Ice

Area Volume Total ice
(km2) (km3) mass (%)
Land ice Antarctic ice sheet 13.9 × 106 30.1 × 106 89.3
6 6
Greenland ice sheet 1.7 × 10 2.6 × 10 8.6
6 6
Mountain glaciers 0.5 × 10 0.3 × 10 0.76
6
Permafrost Continuous 8 × 10 (Ice content) 0.95
0.2–0.5 × 106

Discontinuous 17 × 106

Seasonal snow Eurasia 30 × 106

(avg. max)
2–3 × 103

America 17 × 106
Sea ice Southern Ocean Max 18 × 106 2 × 104

Min 3 × 106 6 × 103

Arctic Ocean Max 15 × 106 4 × 104

Min 8 × 106 2 × 104

The volume of water in the ground that annually freezes and thaws at the surface of permafrost (active
layer), and in regions without permafrost but with subfreezing winter temperatures is not included in
this table.
After Untersteiner (1984); printed with permission from Cambridge University Press.

global climate, so that local climate and land surface conditions partici-
pate in a two-way relationship. Land topography plays an important role
in modifying regional climates, and weathering of rocks on land is a key
component of the carbon cycle that controls the carbon dioxide content of
the atmosphere on millennial time scales.
The arrangement of land and ocean areas on Earth plays a role in deter-
mining global climate. The arrangement of land and ocean varies on time
scales of millions of years as the continents drift about. At the present time,
about 68% of Earth’s land area is in the Northern Hemisphere (Fig. 1.13).
The fact that the Northern Hemisphere has most of the land area causes
significant differences in the climates of the Northern and Southern Hemi-
spheres, and plays an important role in climate change. The Northern
Hemisphere has much more dramatic east–west variations in continental
elevation, especially in middle latitudes where the Himalaya and Rocky
Mountains are prominent features (Fig. 1.14). The topography of the land
surface and the arrangement and orientation of mountain ranges are key
determinants of climate.
22 1. Introduction to the Climate System

FIGURE 1.13 Fraction of surface area covered by land as a function of latitude

(solid line) and contribution of each latitude belt to the global land surface area
(dashed line).

FIGURE 1.14 Color contour plot of the topography of Earth relative to sea level. Scale
is in meters.
 1.9 The land surface 23

EXERCI SES
1. Give several reasons why the amplitude of the annual variation of surface
temperature is greatest in Siberia (Fig. 1.6).
2. If you are standing atop Mount Everest at 8848 m, about what fraction of
mass of the atmosphere is below you? (Use eq. (1.6).)
3. An airplane is flying at 10,000 m above the surface. What is the pressure
outside the airplane in hectoPascals? What is the temperature in degree
Celsius? Use global averages.
4. If the atmosphere warmed up by 5°C, would the atmospheric pressure
at 5 km above sea level increase or decrease, and by approximately how
much? (Use eq. (1.6).)
5. Compute the difference of saturation vapor pressure between 0°C and
30°C. Compare the results you get with eqs (1.10) and (1.11).
6. Explain why the North Polar temperature inversion is present in winter
but not in summer?
7. Why do you think the salinity at 45°N–180°E is so much less than the
salinity at 25°N–180°E (Fig. 1.11)?
Another random document with
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convention of the hospital and her smile angered Freda. It seemed an
intrusion.
Gregory’s nurse came to her. She held out a friendly hand.
“I’m glad you’ve come. We’re doing our best but I was glad when the
doctor wrote you,” she said simply.
Something in her tone pricked the adventure spirit in Freda. It lay flat,
useless, a bit of torn balloon. She saw herself as this other woman saw her
—a wife, come in time of stress to a sick husband, not a lover to a meeting.
That was what she herself had colored her worry with.
Panic seized her. She followed almost resistingly. The door, with its
printed “No Visitors” sign was opened softly. She had to accustom her eyes
to the darkness. A smell of disinfectants, clean and pungent, came to her.
There was the bed, white and high. She made her way towards it falteringly.
The head, bandaged for coolness, did not turn to her. It was only when she
stood by the bedside that it moved a little, restlessly. He did not look real to
her, not like himself.
“Gregory,” she said mechanically.
His fever-dulled eyes looked up at her—lighted. He made one motion
permeating his whole body as if he would rise in spite of the quickly
detaining hand of the nurse.
“Angel,” he said huskily, “you angel of God—Freda.”
The sound of his voice was a release. All her frightened feelings,
reassured, warmed into life, flooded Freda. She sank down by his side, her
head bent over the hot hand, which lay so impotent on the gray blanket.
 CHAPTER XVII

GAGE FINISHES IT

T HE Convention went on as Gage had predicted. It held few surprises.

Here and there a wave of new sentiment was perceptible but the old
rules held good. The tremendous heat was a factor. It made many of the
delegates relapse very easily into the political fatalism which is the breath
of life to party control.
To the women it was more interesting and more disappointing than it
was to the men. They were interested because it was all new. They were
disappointed because every one seemed to give in to the obvious so readily.
Harriet Thompson and her group were somewhat grim—humorous enough.
They had not expected anything else really.
It was an exhausting week. There was a threat that the Convention might
go over into the succeeding week but that was unfulfilled. Saturday night
Margaret and Helen went back to St. Pierre too tired and worn to even talk
much to each other, thoughtful, depressed a little and revolving new
enthusiasms at the same time. But now that they were emerging from the
impersonal world in which they had been they felt the pressure of the
personal responsibilities they both were speeding toward, perhaps, for they
sat in silence in their compartment, each full of her own reflections.
Younger and less experienced women would have welcomed the egotism of
their own visions—the anticipations of scenes in which they would be
central. Helen and Margaret, fresh from the lift of experience which was
largely intellectual, did not look anticipative, or particularly happy.
Helen had wired Gage that she was coming and he met her at the station.
One glance at his dark face told her all she needed to know of his mood. He
took her bags, not offering to kiss her and she and Margaret, oddly
constrained, got into the waiting car. Margaret was dropped at her
apartment and there, at the door, Gage vouchsafed his only conversation.
He asked them briefly if they “were satisfied with the show” and his voice
was heavy with ridicule.
“I think we were,” said Helen, “we didn’t expect as much as you did,
perhaps, Gage.”
 A light answer, ringing sharply. Margaret went into her room and flung
open the windows to air it. At the window she looked down the street but
the Flandon motor had disappeared.
Helen kept wishing that it were not Sunday. Sunday was such a long,
intimate, family day. She meant to have been very definite with herself
about what her mode of approach to Gage would be. She found herself
floundering again. Of course there could be no compromise now. This
business with this girl had to be sifted through, admitted—faced. She
supposed there was nothing at all left of any feeling for Gage. He had been
outrageous and, even as she thought that, she worried about him. He did
look so very badly. Other people must be noticing it too.
He said nothing. At the house he helped her out and went into the house
with her. She sought the children. They were delightful and welcoming, full
of questions, of tales about the fun they had while she was away, eager for
presents. Helen kept the children with her, nervously, postponing the
encounter with Gage, wishing he would go down to the city. But he did not.
He hung about, ominous, smoking, reading, yet not reading with absorption,
suddenly throwing book or paper aside and restlessly trying some new one,
watching Helen.
She was pent up. There was such a contrast between the easy
interchange of yesterday and the constraint of to-day. The house didn’t
seem big enough to hold her and Gage. She went about her work trying to
be normal, directing the maids, playing with the children, unpacking her
bags. All the time she felt him watching her even if she were not in the
same room, felt his brooding concentration on her, knew he was wondering
what she thought about, whether she was glad to be back, what she was
going to do about Freda Thorstad. For the first time in her married life, she
had the sense of marriage as a trap. It had never been that. There were times
when she had been a little restive, but she had always been building on a
rock of belief in marriage, joy in it. It was different to-day. She felt as if she
had come in out of the fresh air of clean discourse, free intercourse, into a
narrow room where she was shut up with a growling man—a room heavy
with discord, enmity, suspicion.
The morning passed somehow. They had finished dinner and she was
waiting for Gage to propose something. He usually took the children for
country drives on Sunday. They were in the big sunroom, shady now with
its awnings let down, and Helen was stretched out on a white willow chaise
longue trying to believe she was ridiculous and making mountains out of
molehills when a maid came in to announce a caller.
“There’s a lady and gentleman to see Mr. Flandon.”
“You hear, Gage?”
“Who is it?” asked Gage.
“I think it’s a lady who’s been here before.”
Gage’s face was interested. He rose from his chair and followed the
maid. Helen heard a brief colloquy of voices then Gage saying, “Come out
here where my wife is, Mrs. Thorstad.”
He reappeared through the French doors with the little Mohawk lady
behind him, and behind her a man, a rather stooping, pleasant-faced
gentleman with well poised head and an air of mingled anxiety and
embarrassment. His manner was unlike that of his wife which was definite,
sharp, assertive, even before she spoke. As she saw them Helen had the
quick perception of a crisis. The parents of this girl here together could
mean only complications of trouble. Her mind stiffened itself for whatever
might be coming, as she rose and greeted Mrs. Thorstad with easy cordiality
and accepted the introduction to her husband graciously.
“Did you enjoy the convention? I didn’t see you again after Wednesday.”
“No,” answered Mrs. Thorstad, “I came up to St. Pierre on Friday night.”
She seated herself in the chair Gage brought for her, a little uneasily,
with a righteous wriggle of her thin body. Her husband and Gage stood
together exchanging a few commonplace remarks. The air was electric.
Surprisingly, it was Mr. Thorstad who began.
“We are sorry to intrude upon you on this Sunday afternoon but our
errand is pressing and it will be best to make it clear at once. My daughter
has been employed in your office, Mr. Flandon.”
“Yes?”
“My wife came from Chicago to pay her a brief visit. She found that
Freda had gone away, leaving no address with any one. We are very much
concerned—greatly disturbed. My wife went at once to your office and
there saw your partner—Mr. Sable, is it?” Gage inclined his head—“You
were not there. I believe Freda was directly in your employ. Mr. Sable tells
my wife that Freda resigned her place on Friday morning. Questioning him
we find that she was asked to resign—that,” he paused and spoke with
difficulty, though still calmly, “that rumors subversive to her character have
been afloat. She has disappeared, Mr. Flandon.” The stoop in his shoulders
had somehow straightened. He was as tall as Gage as he looked at him with
restraint and yet with indictment. “Do you know where my daughter is, Mr.
Flandon?”
He stopped. Mrs. Thorstad edged to the side of her chair, foot tapping
nervously on the floor, eyes on Gage. Helen’s eyes were on him too, though
there was no change in her attitude. She had not paled or flushed. It might
have been the most casual of conversations.
The second before Gage’s answer weighed on all of them. He looked as
if he were pondering something—then back at Mr. Thorstad. His voice was
even and controlled.
“No, Mr. Thorstad, I don’t know where your daughter is.”
“Why did she leave your office?”
“She was discharged by my partner in my absence, most unjustly, for
preposterous suspicions. I shall do my best to reinstate her.”
“It will not be necessary, sir.”
Mrs. Thorstad could bear it no longer.
“And what were these suspicions?” She waited for no answer, turning
quickly on Helen. “I went to see Mrs. Brownley to find out if she could tell
me and her attitude is most peculiar—most peculiar. She insinuated that I
should give up my work to keep watch over my daughter. She cast
reflections on me as a mother. I told her that I had always upheld the
strictest doctrines of the home and the family, that I had always insisted on
a moral purity before everything else. That I should be so treated amazed
me! My daughter has always had the strictest upbringing. What ideas of
modern license she had absorbed from contact with this Miss Duffield I am
sure I don’t know. I always objected to that woman. I asked Miss Duffield
about it this morning. She doesn’t know where Freda is—at least, she says
she doesn’t. Well—who does? You took her into your office, Mr. Flandon,
you exposed her to this gossip—”
“Please, Adeline—”
“I need not tell you, Mr. Thorstad, that this unwarranted action of my
partner has incensed me beyond measure. I have the greatest respect for
your daughter.”
Mr. Thorstad inclined his head a little.
“We wish to find her, Mr. Flandon. We are greatly disturbed. My
daughter went away of her own free will, according to a letter I had from
her. She was evidently drawn by some enthusiasm of emotion.”
“She wrote you that?”
“To that effect.”
Mrs. Thorstad broke in again.
“Even before your wife, Mr. Flandon, I think we should tell you that we
know that your name has been coupled with our daughter’s name. Mr. Sable
let us infer it. I’m sorry, Mrs. Flandon—”
She did not look sorry. She looked vindictive.
“I know,” said Helen, “I believe, Gage, that you could throw some light
on all this. I don’t know that you could but Miss Thorstad’s parents should
be relieved of anxiety if possible.”
Gage looked at his wife. Her eyes met his levelly, seemingly void of
feeling, empty even of anger. Her resistance to pain woke admiration—then
cruelty. So that was all she cared, was it? New woman—modern stuff!
“I do not know where Miss Thorstad is,” he repeated, “I think, however,
that a girl with her strength and control is safe wherever she may be. She
may think it best to keep her plans to herself for the time being—”
“You speak with curious confidence, Mr. Flandon,” said Mrs. Thorstad
sharply. “This matter involves my daughter’s reputation.”
“From what I have seen of your daughter she is above gossip,” answered
Gage. He turned to the other man. “I am sorry I cannot help you. I am more
sorry than I can say that she was treated unfairly in my office and I shall do
my best to adjust that. If I should hear from her of course you will be
informed.”
Mr. Thorstad looked a little tired. He had perhaps keyed himself to this
encounter and found it exhausting to have it end in futility.
“I shall pursue my inquiries, of course. It is not a matter which we care
to have handled through any ordinary channels of search as we are
informed by her that she left voluntarily. It may be that she will
communicate with me to-morrow.”
 An embarrassed pause came.
“Come, Adeline,” said her husband, still initiative.
Mrs. Thorstad felt and looked frustrated. She frowned at him, tight lips
compressed. It was clear that she was neither pleased nor satisfied, that she
wished to ferret further and the presence of her husband restrained her.
“The affair shall be probed,” she said somewhat absurdly.
“You mustn’t go out in this heat without a cool drink. Let me give you a
glass of lemonade, won’t you?”
Helen rang the bell before Mrs. Thorstad could protest.
“It’s very good of you, Mrs. Flandon,” she subsided, stiffly.
Gage seized his opportunity.
“I’ll get you a real drink, Thorstad. Come out in the dining-room, won’t
you?”
Mr. Thorstad, on the point of refusal, checked himself. Gage’s face was
significant. He wanted to see him alone.
In the dining-room they were out of earshot. Gage poured two small
glasses of whisky, his companion’s restraining hand dictating the amount.
Even then Mr. Thorstad waited. He raised his glass perfunctorily but did not
drink.
“I’m sorry for this mess, Thorstad. I don’t believe in taking notice of
gossip ordinarily and you can’t help what a lot of small people think. But I
saw something of your daughter in my office. I admired her character, her
idealism immensely. I—am not involved in any way with her. I believe
wherever she is that she is happy—and safe.”
“Did she leave the city because of that dismissal from your office?”
Gage strode up and down the room.
“That’s it! I don’t know. It might be. I was in Chicago. My partner took
it on himself to let her go. How deeply he wounded her I don’t know. I was
appalled when I heard what he had done. I am going to make reparation to
her in some way, I assure you. It’s the sort of thing that is hard to repair but
I shall do my best when I know where she is.”
“Why did they talk about her in connection with you, Flandon, if there’s
nothing to it?”
“Fools. I shan’t contradict them.”
 “It might be wise to contradict them.”
“No.” A gleam of hysteria was in Gage’s smile. “Let them say what they
please as long as it doesn’t hurt Miss Thorstad.”
“It may do that.”
“Then we stop it. But there’s no point in statements now that there is no
possible connection between our names. The thing is to find her if you feel
she ought not to be left alone.”
“Why should she be left alone? She may be in distress.”
“I don’t think so,” Gage was guarding Freda’s secret as best he could and
trying to reassure her father who so inspired sympathy and respect. “She is
so controlled—so high minded that she would act wisely, I’m sure.”
Mr. Thorstad looked at him curiously.
“Then you have no further information?”
“No—only I hope you’ll take my word that I’m not involved.”
“I am inclined to do so.” Mr. Thorstad put down his untasted glass on the
table and accepted Gage’s outstretched hand. “I do not feel exactly as her
mother does about the matter. Of course Mrs. Thorstad is actuated by a
mother’s great anxiety. I am a little more inclined to trust to Freda’s
judgments. She is, as you say, not a person to be the victim of any easy
emotion or to yield to any false persuasion. She has great perception of the
alliance between true things and beautiful things.”
“I saw that,” said Gage. “You’re very wise, Mr. Thorstad. It’s too bad
she can’t be left alone to work this out.”
“Personally,” went on the other, “the scandal doesn’t perturb me at all. It
is for her mother’s sake that I feel obliged to overstep my own inclination to
let Freda have her own time to make her confidence. I felt it necessary to
trace any possible connection you might have with her disappearance. I—I
am apt to take the word of a gentleman as truth, Mr. Flandon.”
“You are very good,” said Gage. “Very good. I am deeply grateful.”
“Shall we return to the others?”
The two women were sitting silently, making no pretense at casual talk,
their curiosity as to what the two men had said to each other indisguisable.
“We must go now, Adeline.”
 She rose, evidently torn by a desire to be easy and complaisant and a
disgruntled lack of satisfaction in the interview.
“Very well,” she said, “I’m sure I shall not be able to rest for a second
until my daughter is safe and with me once more.”
They were courteous to the little outbreak of melodrama but not too
responsive.
Helen and Gage accompanied their visitors to the door and saw them
walk down the street, the sunlight bringing out the shiny seams in Mr.
Thorstad’s coat, beating unmercifully on the defiant little daisies in his
wife’s hat.
Helen turned to her husband.
“Why didn’t I hear of this?”
“I didn’t know you’d be interested. You’ve been so interested in national
affairs I couldn’t suppose you had time for little local troubles.”
She set her lips in anger.
“You gain nothing by viciousness, Gage. Where is that girl?”
“Haven’t I said I didn’t know?”
“I don’t believe you.”
“That’s quite in line with your other theories of wifely conduct.”
“I’m not interested in quarreling with you, Gage. I simply want to know
for my own protection what is going on. Is it true that George Sable
discharged that girl while you were away?”
“Quite true.”
“For what reason?”
Gage lighted a swaggering cigarette.
“His mind runs along with yours, Helen. He had the same delicate ideas
you have.”
“Where did the girl go?”
“Didn’t you hear me say I didn’t know?”
“Has she run away from you too? Have you got that girl into trouble?”
“I always hated that phrase,” answered Gage, nonchalantly.
“Why did you come back from Chicago so soon?”
 “Why should I stay? A fifth wheel? The entirely superfluous husband of
one of the great feminist successes?”
“I asked you why you came back.” She framed each word with an
artificial calmness.
“You haven’t taken so much interest in me for years, Helen. It’s true,
isn’t it? All a man has to do is to get involved in a scandal to have the
women after him.”
She pressed her hand to her face as if to shut out the sight of him.
“You’re a madman, Gage.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Then she dropped into a chair, weeping long sobs, drawn from emotion
controlled beyond her strength.
“Why do you torture me so, Gage? What devil possesses you?”
He had always had a horror of seeing her weep. He took a step towards
her.
“I’m tired—I’m tired,” sobbed Helen.
Gage stiffened. “And why are you tired? Because you’ve been running
around Chicago. I didn’t tire you. You tire yourself. Then you come back
exhausted and blame me because you are exhausted. If you were more a
wife—less a public character—”
She had risen and stood looking at him angrily again, eyes wide with
hurt and disappointment.
“You jealous fool—you’re on the point of becoming a degenerate. If
even Sable has to watch over your actions—publicly reprove you—”
“He won’t do it again,” said Gage, “not again. I am severing my
connection with the upright Sable. He’ll never pry into my business again.
I’ll tell you that for certain.”
She stopped considering the personal trouble in sheer amazement.
“You’re not going to break with Sable?”
“I told him yesterday I was through. In fact I told him cordially to go to
hell. He can’t play the black mammy to me, you know.”
“But—what are you to do?”
“Oh, I’ll do something. I’ll show him whether I have to sit and take
dictation from him.”
 “You’re going to practice by yourself?”
“When my plans are ready, you’ll hear them, Helen.”
She shivered.
“I wonder if you’re headed for destruction.”
“You told me I was a degenerate. Well, we’ll see.”
Looking at him she saw, underneath the mask of tawdry control, the
agitation he was in and the ravages of nervousness. His eyes were not
steady—they were too bright and he had a way of biting at his lower lip
which she could not remember.
She straightened her hair mechanically and went past him toward the
sunroom. As she went she heard him return to the dining-room and stood
with clenched hands trying not to interfere until she had thought things out.
Lying down in the same chair she had occupied before she tried to get
some order into her thoughts. The problem of Freda, so overwhelmingly
great a moment ago, was matched if not overcome by her realization that
Gage was going from bad to worse—that he seemed to be on the loose
mentally—tearing from catastrophe to catastrophe. The significance of a
quarrel with Sable grew upon her—the probability of all the financial
trouble that Gage might be letting himself in for. And the thing that she
came back to time after time as her thoughts went around in circles was that
Gage did not seem to care any more—that he was so recklessly indifferent
to what she thought—to what was wise for the children and for her.
For the moment she had passed beyond the point of thinking of rights
and wrongs. She was concentrated on immediate necessities. She almost
forgot the complication of Freda and was shocked at herself when that came
back to her.
She heard the sound of Gage’s car starting down the driveway. He was
going out then. All her feelings, her thoughts bore on one question. Where
was he going?
 CHAPTER XVIII

IN HOSPITAL

A FTER the first twenty-four hours with Gregory nothing seemed real to
Freda outside of the hospital. She had found for herself a hotel room, a
shabby little room in a second rate hotel, a room with scarred brown
maple bureau and iron bed from which the paint had peeled. It looked out
on a fire escape and a narrow court, helplessly trapped between tall brick
walls.
To that room she went for her periods of rest, for the hospital had no
vacant room or even bed, where she might relax. After she had gone to the
hotel from the hospital several times the way seemed curiously familiar.
Two blocks to the east, across the street car line, past the drug store with its
structure of Tanlac in the window—one block to the north and there was the
entrance of the hotel with seven or eight broad cement steps leading up to it.
There was not one thing which she passed which impressed itself in the
least on her imagination—not one image that was vivid enough to
penetrate. Night and day it was the same—like moving blindfolded through
still air. It was only when she went back to the hospital that her mind
seemed to stir from its lethargy.
The hardest moments were those of Gregory’s lucidity—when the sight
of her made him flame with a passion which leapt through his restricted and
suffering body, when phrases came to his hot lips which made her quiver
with the sense of him. She would kneel beside his bed and tell him softly
reassuring things and with his head turned on his pillow he would regard
her from the depths of those eyes, always haggardly set, but now far
sunken.
She had no faintest doubts as to her past or present actions. That was
Freda’s great triumph over most of the women she knew. She did not doubt;
she did not worry. Most of them had carried over into their new self-
confidence and their new chances a habit of worry born of ingrowing
responsibilities in the past and now fostered by general self-consciousness.
It was unnatural to Freda to mope over her actions or to analyze them. She
knew how to go ahead and there always was absence of self-consciousness
about what she did, simplicity of manner, dignity of step. It was as if she
had somehow stepped over the phase of altercation, doubt and experiment
into a manner which did the unusual easily, but only if the unusual came in
her path, which accepted new rules, new customs without a flush, and most
of all was able to merge the best of feminism into a fine yet unchristened
ease of sex. She did not need either the little fears or defenses of her mother
or the larger ones of Margaret Duffield. It did not occur to her that she was
very complete in herself and satisfying to herself. She bothered with no
altercations or analysis.
It was not a wholly sad time for all the deepening anxiety and danger—it
was not a time for depression. Freda knew that she had come to grips with
life and she was glad to feel her full strength called to battle.
While they wondered about her in St. Pierre, while her name ran like a
little germ of gossip spreading contagion from lip to lip in St. Pierre, she sat
most of the time in the hospital, in the chair beside Gregory’s bed, touching
his hot, tense wrist with the coolness of her fingers—she sat outside his
room in the recess of the bay windows on a curved window seat and
watched people come and go—and once in a while she slipped into the
hospital library and got hold of a book on pregnancy which fascinated her.
Skillfully manipulated conversation with the nurse had given her enough
information so that she had been able to control a great part of her own
present liability to sickness and she felt better than she had for several
weeks.
Three days after her arrival Gregory came successfully through the first
crisis of his illness. Freda walked on air the next day. The doctor was
cheerful and jocose.
“We’ll have that young Irishman of yours out of the woods in ten days,”
he said to Freda, and she had no doubt of it.
The difficulty was not in the progress of the disease but in Gregory’s
own debility. He was not so well a few days later. The doctor talked gravely
of exhaustion and Freda picked up from the reluctant nurse that exhaustion
during the third week was dangerous—that one might die because of it.
For the first time she was fearful. Here was nothing you could combat
for him. Here was a slow slipping away. He did not often talk now. Almost
all the time he lay, incredibly thin, mournfully haggard against his pillow,
too tired even for Freda to call back.
 She thought about death. One day she passed a room in which a man was
dying. She heard the raucous gasp from the filling lungs and trembled. They
brought a priest. She wondered. If Gregory should die, would he too have a
priest to guide him out? She supposed that usually you sent for a minister or
priest. A month before the mere suggestion that a soul needed ushering into
immortality would have seemed absurd to her healthy pagan young mind,
but now, with the severing of the thread so possible, with the limits of the
unknown receding even while they grew close she wondered. Gregory was
not formally religious but in his poems he had seemed so conscious of God.
“Most poets write of women—but you write only of God and Ireland.”
So she had said to him, she remembered, and he had answered.
“I shall write of woman now, dear heart.”
She went softly to his door. No change. Well, she should go to the hotel
for an hour—But the nurse stopped her.
“Mrs. Macmillan, he is not so well. The doctor thinks these next twelve
hours will be the worst. If you wish to leave I think it will be all right. If
not, I can see that you get a supper tray and if he is better in the night you
can take my cot.”
Freda felt a strange chill rushing over her.
“I’ll stay.” She looked at Gregory. “Worse? He looks just the same.”
“He is weaker—”
The stillness of the phrase—the helplessness. She sat down in the chair
by him again. It seemed so absurd not to call him back—so impotent. He
looked unguarded. If—if he should die he would go—wherever it was—
there must be a future for a soul like Gregory’s somewhere—he would go
alone. Cruel. She thought of the child growing within her. How much more
gentle was birth than death. Gentle and gradual and kind. It was shared, but
this horrible singleness of dying—
She had supper in the nurse’s kitchen. The nurses were kind to her,
faintly curious, preoccupied, full of that gayety so characteristic of nurses
when for an hour they can slip out of the technique of the manner which
they affect and become informal, unrestrained. The shadow of Gregory’s
crisis rested on them not at all, Freda thought. She was not resentful. But
she ate to please the nurse who had managed to get the supper for her and
then went quickly back to Gregory. If it should happen when she was away!
It must not. She must go there to keep it from happening. Surely she could.
Surely she could.
She did not sleep. The nurse watched on one side, she on the other, the
nurse nodding a little and Freda shaking off the fearful drowsiness that
came over her too. She did not want to sleep. She was afraid that if she
slept, it might happen. It was like sentry duty. As long as she was awake
such a thing would not happen. She did not name death in her thoughts. It
was like invoking a presence. She understood trite phrases as she thought—
the triteness of “he has left us,” “passed on,” “was called.” How those
phrases irked her in the newspapers sometimes. But they were true. It was
like that. She heard the soft rise and fall of the nurse’s breathing. She was
asleep—no, not quite.
Now and then he moved a little. His troubled breathing seemed to sigh,
slight, weary sighs. Freda bent close over him. Here we are, she thought, he
and I and him within me. We must stay close, closer than death can come.
Three hours later, with the gray light coming so early into the room, the
nurse, who had slept a little, roused herself, busy immediately with the
routine of temperature taking, her cap a little askew, her face puffed with
uncompleted sleep.
“Well, we got through that night all right,” she said cheerfully, softly.
“And our patient looks better, Mrs. Macmillan. Look at him—doesn’t he?”
Freda looked shakily at him. It seemed almost true. He seemed to be
sleeping almost naturally.
“Then you think he’s come through?” she ventured.
The nurse straightened her cap professionally.
“Well, I should say that bad turn he took last night would be the last.
He’ll be coming along now. We’ll get some nourishment into him pretty
soon. You go over to the hotel and get some sleep—no, lie down here on
my cot. You look weak.”

And now it was a new atmosphere—an atmosphere of convalescence, of

Gregory coming slowly back to life, visibly changing for the better, smiling,
joking feebly, watching her wonderingly and devotedly, talking when he
was allowed.
 “It’s such a ridiculous way to begin housekeeping,” Freda would tease
him, gently.
“It’s a maddening way and a marvelous way—to have all day to watch
you and adore you and not to dare to pull you into my arms for fear a nurse
will pop out on me.”
“You may be sure one would.”
“How long do I have to stay here?”
“A wheeled chair next week if you are good and don’t get excited.”
“A wheeled chair—when I want a highway with you beside me—”
“If you’re impatient—” she stopped to smile at him.
“Listen, Freda—we go straight off together, don’t we?”
“Off where?”
“Back home.”
“We should stop to see my father and my mother. Do you know,
Gregory, I didn’t even tell any one where I was going. I just came. I
suppose they’re all mystified and probably worried. Though I wrote them
not to be.”
“Well, we’ll stop to tell your parents. And then off for Ireland.”
“Have we enough money?” asked Freda.
“Plenty. I have it somewhere. Let me see. It was a black bill case—
maybe you could find it for me. Black bill case with an elastic band around
it. There’s about five hundred. They paid me in notes—(bills, you say)—at
these last places and I meant to get post office orders. Much safer. Hunt it
up, will you, darling? And you might be looking up passage.”
“Passage for weeks from now,” she said sternly. But she was as eager as
he and they smiled at each other, doubled, trebled in happiness now that
their storm had come and they had been able to weather it together.
She went on the trail of the black bill case and found it easily enough. It
was, with Gregory’s few valuables, in the possession of the hospital office.
In it were some papers, some letters and twenty-three dollars. Her heart fell
with a thump.
“Is this all there was?”
“His watch too—we never leave valuables with sick patients who have
no relatives about. They might get picked up and the hospital be considered
responsible.”
“I mean all the money?”
The nurse in charge of the office wrinkled her forehead and looked at the
note regarding Gregory on her record.
“Black bill case—letters—papers—twenty-three dollars in currency.
That’s what he brought here. Is that correct? We’ve kept the bill case in our
safe, of course.”
She looked questioningly at Freda.
“That’s what is here,” said Freda, “but you see my husband thought there
was more—quite a lot more. I wonder was he sick in the hotel long?”
But the hotel was a blind trail and a suspicious one. The chambermaid
who had called the doctor for Gregory had left the town—strangely enough
two days after he was taken sick. She had never been a competent girl—
The hotel courteously disclaimed all responsibility and hoped the loss was
not great. There was a safe in the office—guests were requested and so
forth—.
“Of course,” said Freda, “I quite understand.” She did. She understood
that the money had vanished and that it was not coming back to her or to
Gregory. She went back to her hotel room and counted what money she
had. With Gregory’s present resources they had fifty dollars between them.
And there was an unpaid nurse at five dollars a day—hospital bills, doctor
bills, doubtless bills for all the medicines. All those things and no money to
meet them, she pondered. Besides she must not tell Gregory. She must not
worry him just now or disappoint him. The nurse wanted him kept calm and
cheerful. But in the meantime, what was she to do?
It was hard going back to the hospital and facing the nurse. The nurse
was so good to her and Freda felt miserably that to let her be so good when
there was no money to pay her was deceiving. She herself was hot and
troubled. Her clothes were an annoyance. She had only three blouses and
one of those was torn at the neck irremediably. It was hard to keep cheerful
when you needed fresh clothes so badly and had hardly enough money to
pay the hotel bill mounting up against you. But she forgot all that in the
presence of Gregory. He was feeling better this afternoon than he had up to
that time, his convalescence taking one of those quick strides so
encouraging to those who watch. The nurse had propped him up on his
pillows and he wanted Freda beside him.
 So she let the matter drift and when he asked if she had found the bill
case she told him “yes.”
“Then that’s all right,” he said gaily, and saved her the lie she had ready.
Nor did he waste more time on money. He wanted to talk of other things, to
ask her questions and it was that afternoon that she dared to tell him that she
expected their child, and to let herself relax a little in the companionship of
his happiness and the comfort of his reverence.
But when she went back to the hotel she could not bring herself to order
supper. The menu stared at her—with ducklings and roasts and table
d’hotes. Figure as she would, she could not order a supper for less than a
dollar. So she pleaded a headache to the waiter and left the table to go
supperless to her room and then to bed, for the nurse had said Gregory must
be quiet that evening.
 CHAPTER XIX

MENTAL SURGERY

M ARGARET knew all about it now. From her point of view certain
conventions of non-interference between husband and wife were so
many links in the old chain. Undoubtedly it was not that she wanted to
force Helen’s confidence. But to come upon Helen the Monday after that
exhausting Sunday, come to her to say good-by and make plans for the
future, and to find the splendid dignity and poise of the Helen she had been
with in Chicago destroyed angered her. Helen had told her the facts. She
had to tell some one, she told herself in a justification she felt bound to
make in secret, and Margaret was at least a stranger in the city and
moreover the only woman she knew who would not make the slightest
impulse to carry her story to other ears.
Margaret, in immaculate white linen, looking as cool and competent as
an operating surgeon, had listened. She heard the whole of the story, how
Gage had changed—for that Helen insisted upon.
“He’s simply not himself. I suppose it’s the feeling he has towards the
girl.”
“Don’t ‘the girl’ her, Helen. I’m not a bit sure of that part of the story.
Somehow it’s too preposterous that Freda should be languishing somewhere
waiting for Gage’s casual attention. I tell you that girl doesn’t languish.
She’s not that kind. She’s the most magnificently unconscious modern you
ever saw. She wouldn’t be any one’s mistress. She hasn’t that much
dependence in her. Not for a minute. I simply don’t believe it.”
“She disappeared the day after he came back from the convention. And
then he was away that week-end she was seen at the Roadside Inn.”
“I don’t believe she was ever seen there,” said Margaret.
Helen put her hand to her head.
“I don’t want to believe it, but if he won’t deny it—and isn’t it possible
that the poor child’s run away even from him? If she should be going to
have—oh, damn, I can’t say it even—” She broke off a little hysterically.
 “No—I don’t believe that either.” But for all her stout words, Margaret
sounded a little more dubious this time. “Let’s leave her out of it. What is
there to do about you and Gage?”
“I despise my own incompetence of decision,” said Helen. “But I don’t
know. I don’t know how to go through the business. It seems impossible
that we’ve come to the edge of divorce but I can’t go on living with a man
who acts as Gage does. I can’t, that is, with any measure of self-respect.
And yet I look around and the very weight of detail—the tremendous
business of unwinding a marriage—it seems then as if the quick flare-up of
partings that you read about—the separations that never involve themselves
with the machinery of complaints and retaining lawyers and distributing
property and—moving vans—are quite fantastic. I wonder if it’s laziness
which keeps me so fearful of the mass of detail, Margaret—”
“Of course you’re trivial on purpose, I suppose,” answered Margaret.
“The things you speak of don’t really bother you.”
“Yes. Translated into more serious terms I suppose the thing that hurts is
the terrible pain of cleavage between two people who have grown into each
other for years.”
“More likely. Helen, I don’t want to probe, but do you want to live
without Gage?”
Helen pondered.
“I don’t want to lose him. I feel dreadfully cheated—put upon. I didn’t
want any of this. If I’d known that he was going to feel so outraged at the
political venture I’d have stopped, I think, before I let it get to an impasse.
But I’m afraid it’s that now. He and I were—well, there’s no use
debauching myself with memories. No—I don’t think I want to lose him but
even aside from this question of his disloyalty—this business with Freda
Thorstad—he’s becoming impossible to live with. The children are noticing
it. He doesn’t play with them as he used to. Goes off by himself. There’s no
free and easy interchange between us at all. Of course he’s often flatly rude
to me before the servants.”
“Suppose you gave up all the things he doesn’t like now, would that
solve things?”
Helen shook her head.
“Not now. The thing has gone too far. We’ve been ugly to each other and
we wouldn’t forget that. Besides I’m afraid I’d be resentful. There’s no