The Conflict [61]
him with a friendly and even tender sympathy. ``I understand now,'' she said. ``I thought it was simply the ordinary outburst of passion. But I see that it was the result of your struggle with yourself about which road to take in making a career.''
If she had not been absorbed in developing her theory she might have seen that Davy was not altogether satisfied with this analysis of his feelings. But he deemed it wise to hold his peace.
``You do need some one--some woman,'' she went on. ``And I am anxious to help you all I can. I couldn't help you by marrying you. To me marriage means----'' She checked herself abruptly. ``No matter. I can help you, I think, as a friend. But if you wish to marry, you should take some one in your own class-- some one who's in sympathy with you. Then you and she could work it out together--could help each other. You see, I don't need you--and there's nothing in one- sided marriages. . . . No, you couldn't give me anything I need, so far as I can see.''
``I believe that's true,'' said Davy miserably.
She reflected, then continued: ``But there's Jane Hastings. Why not marry her? She is having the same sort of struggle with herself. You and she could help each other. And you're, both of you, fine characters. I like each of you for exactly the same reasons. . . . Yes--Jane needs you, and you need her.'' She looked at him with her sweet, frank smile like a breeze straight from the sweep of a vast plateau. ``Why, it's so obvious that I wonder you and she haven't become engaged long ago. You ARE fond of her, aren't you?''
``Oh, Selma,'' cried Davy, ``I LOVE you. I want YOU.''
She shook her head with a quaint, fascinating expression of positiveness. ``Now, my friend,'' said she, ``drop that fancy. It isn't sensible. And it threatens to become silly.'' Her smile suddenly expanded into a laugh. ``The idea of you and me married--of ME married to YOU! I'd drive you crazy. No, I shouldn't stay long enough for that. I'd be of on the wings of the wind to the other end of the earth as soon as you tried to put a halter on me.''
He did not join in her laugh. She rose. ``You will think again before you go in with those people--won't you, David?'' she said, sober and earnest.
``I don't care what becomes of me,'' he said boyishly.
``But _I_ do,'' she said. ``I want to see you the man you can be.''
``Then--marry me,'' he cried.
Her eyes looked gentle friendship; her passionate lips curled in scorn. ``I might marry the sort of man you could be,'' she said, ``but I never could marry a man so weak that, without me to bolster him up, he'd become a stool-pigeon.''
And she turned and walked away.
V.
A few days later, after she had taken her daily two hours' walk, Selma went into the secluded part of Washington Park and spent the rest of the morning writing. Her walk was her habitual time for thinking out her plans for the day. And when it was writing that she had to do, and the weather was fine, that particular hillside with its splendid shade so restful for the eyes and so stimulating to the mind became her work-shop. She thought that she was helped as much by the colors of grass and foliage as by the softened light and the tranquil view out over hills and valleys.
When she had finished her article she consulted the little nickel watch she carried in her bag and discovered that it was only one o'clock. She had counted on getting through at three or half past. Two hours gained. How could she best use them. The part of the Park where she was sitting was separated from the Hastings grounds only by the winding highroad making its last reach for the top of the hill. She decided that she would go to see Jane Hastings--would try to make tactful progress in her project of helping Jane and David Hull by marrying them to each other. Once she had hit upon this project her interest in both of them had equally increased. Yes, these gained two hours was an opportunity not to be neglected.
She put her papers into her shopping bag and
If she had not been absorbed in developing her theory she might have seen that Davy was not altogether satisfied with this analysis of his feelings. But he deemed it wise to hold his peace.
``You do need some one--some woman,'' she went on. ``And I am anxious to help you all I can. I couldn't help you by marrying you. To me marriage means----'' She checked herself abruptly. ``No matter. I can help you, I think, as a friend. But if you wish to marry, you should take some one in your own class-- some one who's in sympathy with you. Then you and she could work it out together--could help each other. You see, I don't need you--and there's nothing in one- sided marriages. . . . No, you couldn't give me anything I need, so far as I can see.''
``I believe that's true,'' said Davy miserably.
She reflected, then continued: ``But there's Jane Hastings. Why not marry her? She is having the same sort of struggle with herself. You and she could help each other. And you're, both of you, fine characters. I like each of you for exactly the same reasons. . . . Yes--Jane needs you, and you need her.'' She looked at him with her sweet, frank smile like a breeze straight from the sweep of a vast plateau. ``Why, it's so obvious that I wonder you and she haven't become engaged long ago. You ARE fond of her, aren't you?''
``Oh, Selma,'' cried Davy, ``I LOVE you. I want YOU.''
She shook her head with a quaint, fascinating expression of positiveness. ``Now, my friend,'' said she, ``drop that fancy. It isn't sensible. And it threatens to become silly.'' Her smile suddenly expanded into a laugh. ``The idea of you and me married--of ME married to YOU! I'd drive you crazy. No, I shouldn't stay long enough for that. I'd be of on the wings of the wind to the other end of the earth as soon as you tried to put a halter on me.''
He did not join in her laugh. She rose. ``You will think again before you go in with those people--won't you, David?'' she said, sober and earnest.
``I don't care what becomes of me,'' he said boyishly.
``But _I_ do,'' she said. ``I want to see you the man you can be.''
``Then--marry me,'' he cried.
Her eyes looked gentle friendship; her passionate lips curled in scorn. ``I might marry the sort of man you could be,'' she said, ``but I never could marry a man so weak that, without me to bolster him up, he'd become a stool-pigeon.''
And she turned and walked away.
V.
A few days later, after she had taken her daily two hours' walk, Selma went into the secluded part of Washington Park and spent the rest of the morning writing. Her walk was her habitual time for thinking out her plans for the day. And when it was writing that she had to do, and the weather was fine, that particular hillside with its splendid shade so restful for the eyes and so stimulating to the mind became her work-shop. She thought that she was helped as much by the colors of grass and foliage as by the softened light and the tranquil view out over hills and valleys.
When she had finished her article she consulted the little nickel watch she carried in her bag and discovered that it was only one o'clock. She had counted on getting through at three or half past. Two hours gained. How could she best use them. The part of the Park where she was sitting was separated from the Hastings grounds only by the winding highroad making its last reach for the top of the hill. She decided that she would go to see Jane Hastings--would try to make tactful progress in her project of helping Jane and David Hull by marrying them to each other. Once she had hit upon this project her interest in both of them had equally increased. Yes, these gained two hours was an opportunity not to be neglected.
She put her papers into her shopping bag and