The Conflict [103]
her class not to marry a man of my class,'' answered Hull, believing that he was giving the exact and the only reason she assigned or had.
Jane gave a faint smile of disdain. ``Women don't act from a sense of duty,'' she said.
``She's not the ordinary woman,'' said Hull. ``You must remember she wasn't brought up as you and I were--hasn't our ideas of life. The things that appeal to us most strongly don't touch her. She knows nothing about them.'' He added, ``And that's her great charm for me.''
Jane nodded sympathetically. Her own case exactly. After a brief hesitation she suggested:
``Perhaps Selma's in love with--some one else.'' The pause before the vague ``some one else'' was almost unnoticeable.
``With Victor Dorn, you mean?'' said Davy. ``I asked her about that. No, she's not in love with him.''
``As if she'd tell you!''
Davy looked at her a little scornfully. ``Don't insinuate,'' he said. ``You know she would. There's nothing of the ordinary tricky, evasive, faking woman about her. And although she's got plenty of excuse for being conceited, she isn't a bit so. She isn't always thinking about herself, like the girls of our class.''
``I don't in the least wonder at your being in love with her, Davy,'' said Jane sweetly. ``Didn't I tell you I admired your taste--and your courage?''
``You're sneering at me,'' said Davy. ``All the same, it did take courage--for I'm a snob at bottom--like you--like all of us who've been brought up so foolishly --so rottenly. But I'm proud that I had the courage. I've had a better opinion of myself ever since. And if you have any unspoiled womanhood in you, you agree with me.''
``I do agree with you,'' said Jane softly. She reached out and laid her hand on his arm for an instant. ``That's honest, Davy.''
He gave her a grateful look. ``I know it,'' said he. ``The reason I confide things to you is because I know you're a real woman at bottom, Jane--the only real person I've ever happened across in our class.''
``It took more courage for you to do that sort of thing than it would for a woman,'' said Jane. ``It's more natural, easier for a woman to stake everything in love. If she hasn't the man she wants she hasn't anything, while a man's wife can be a mere detail in his life. He can forget he's married, most of the time.''
``That isn't the way I intend to be married,'' said Davy. ``I want a wife who'll be half, full half, of the whole. And I'll get her.''
``You mean you haven't given up?''
``Why should I? She doesn't love another man. So, there's hope.
Don't you think so?''
Jane was silent. She hastily debated whether it would be wiser to say yes or to say no.
``Don't you think so?'' repeated he.
``How can I tell?'' replied Jane, diplomatically. ``I'd have to see her with you--see how she feels toward you.''
``I think she likes me,'' said Davy, ``likes me a good deal.''
Jane kept her smile from the surface. What a man always thought, no matter how plainly a woman showed that she detested him. ``No doubt she does,'' said Jane. She had decided upon a course of action. ``If I were you, Davy, I'd keep away from her for the present-- give her time to think it over, to see all the advantages. If a man forces himself on a queer, wild sort of girl such as Selma is, he's likely to drive her further away.''
Davy reflected. ``Guess you're right,'' said he finally. ``My instinct is always to act--to keep on acting until I get results.
But it's dangerous to do that with Selma. At least, I think so. I don't know. I don't understand her. I've got nothing to offer her--nothing that she wants--as she frankly told me. Even if she loved me, I doubt if she'd marry me--on account of her sense of duty. What you said awhile ago-- about women never doing things from a sense of duty-- that shows how hard it is for a woman to understand what's perfectly simple to a man. Selma isn't the sheltered woman sort--the sort whose moral obligations are all looked after by the men of her family. The old-fashioned
Jane gave a faint smile of disdain. ``Women don't act from a sense of duty,'' she said.
``She's not the ordinary woman,'' said Hull. ``You must remember she wasn't brought up as you and I were--hasn't our ideas of life. The things that appeal to us most strongly don't touch her. She knows nothing about them.'' He added, ``And that's her great charm for me.''
Jane nodded sympathetically. Her own case exactly. After a brief hesitation she suggested:
``Perhaps Selma's in love with--some one else.'' The pause before the vague ``some one else'' was almost unnoticeable.
``With Victor Dorn, you mean?'' said Davy. ``I asked her about that. No, she's not in love with him.''
``As if she'd tell you!''
Davy looked at her a little scornfully. ``Don't insinuate,'' he said. ``You know she would. There's nothing of the ordinary tricky, evasive, faking woman about her. And although she's got plenty of excuse for being conceited, she isn't a bit so. She isn't always thinking about herself, like the girls of our class.''
``I don't in the least wonder at your being in love with her, Davy,'' said Jane sweetly. ``Didn't I tell you I admired your taste--and your courage?''
``You're sneering at me,'' said Davy. ``All the same, it did take courage--for I'm a snob at bottom--like you--like all of us who've been brought up so foolishly --so rottenly. But I'm proud that I had the courage. I've had a better opinion of myself ever since. And if you have any unspoiled womanhood in you, you agree with me.''
``I do agree with you,'' said Jane softly. She reached out and laid her hand on his arm for an instant. ``That's honest, Davy.''
He gave her a grateful look. ``I know it,'' said he. ``The reason I confide things to you is because I know you're a real woman at bottom, Jane--the only real person I've ever happened across in our class.''
``It took more courage for you to do that sort of thing than it would for a woman,'' said Jane. ``It's more natural, easier for a woman to stake everything in love. If she hasn't the man she wants she hasn't anything, while a man's wife can be a mere detail in his life. He can forget he's married, most of the time.''
``That isn't the way I intend to be married,'' said Davy. ``I want a wife who'll be half, full half, of the whole. And I'll get her.''
``You mean you haven't given up?''
``Why should I? She doesn't love another man. So, there's hope.
Don't you think so?''
Jane was silent. She hastily debated whether it would be wiser to say yes or to say no.
``Don't you think so?'' repeated he.
``How can I tell?'' replied Jane, diplomatically. ``I'd have to see her with you--see how she feels toward you.''
``I think she likes me,'' said Davy, ``likes me a good deal.''
Jane kept her smile from the surface. What a man always thought, no matter how plainly a woman showed that she detested him. ``No doubt she does,'' said Jane. She had decided upon a course of action. ``If I were you, Davy, I'd keep away from her for the present-- give her time to think it over, to see all the advantages. If a man forces himself on a queer, wild sort of girl such as Selma is, he's likely to drive her further away.''
Davy reflected. ``Guess you're right,'' said he finally. ``My instinct is always to act--to keep on acting until I get results.
But it's dangerous to do that with Selma. At least, I think so. I don't know. I don't understand her. I've got nothing to offer her--nothing that she wants--as she frankly told me. Even if she loved me, I doubt if she'd marry me--on account of her sense of duty. What you said awhile ago-- about women never doing things from a sense of duty-- that shows how hard it is for a woman to understand what's perfectly simple to a man. Selma isn't the sheltered woman sort--the sort whose moral obligations are all looked after by the men of her family. The old-fashioned