The Price She Paid [130]
those foolish dreams, I knew we could never be happy.''
``That is true--oh, SO true,'' replied she.
``But now--you have tried, and that has made a woman of you. And you have failed, and that has made you ready to be a wife--to be happy in the quiet, private ways.''
She was silent.
``I can make enough for us both--as much as we will need or want--as much as you please, if you aren't too extravagant. And I can do it easily. It's making little sums--a small income--that's hard in this ridiculous world. Let's marry, go to California or Europe for several months, then come back here and live like human beings.''
She was silent. Block after block they walked along, as if neither had anything especial in mind, anything worth the trouble of speech. Finally he said:
``Well?''
``I can't answer--yet,'' said she. ``Not to-day-- not till I've thought.''
She glanced quickly at him. Over his impassive face, so beautifully regular and, to her, so fascinating, there passed a quick dark shadow, and she knew that he was suffering. He laughed quietly, his old careless, indifferent laugh.
``Oh, yes, you can answer,'' said he. ``You have answered.''
She drew in her breath sharply.
``You have refused.''
``Why do you say that, Donald?'' she pleaded.
``To hesitate over a proposal is to refuse,'' said he with gentle raillery. ``A man is a fool who does not understand and sheer off when a woman asks for time.''
``You know that I love you,'' she cried.
``I also know that you love something else more. But it's finished. Let's talk about something else.''
``Won't you let me tell you why I hesitate?'' begged she.
``It doesn't matter.''
``But it does. Yes, I do refuse, Donald. I'll never marry you until I am independent. You said a while ago that what I've been through had made a woman of me. Not yet. I'm only beginning. I'm still weak-- still a coward. Donald, I must and will be free.''
He looked full at her, with a strange smile in his brilliant eyes. Said he, with obvious intent to change the subject: ``Mrs. Brindley's very unhappy that you haven't been to see her.''
``When you asked me to marry you, the only reason I almost accepted was because I want someone to support me. I love you--yes. But it is as one loves before one has given oneself and has lived the same life with another. In the ordinary sense, it's love that I feel. But--do you understand me, dearest?--in another sense, it's only the hope of love, the belief that love will come.''
He stopped short and looked at her, his eyes alive with the stimulus of a new and startling idea.
``If you and I had been everything to each other, and you were saying `Let us go on living the one life' and I were hesitating, then you'd be right. And I couldn't hesitate, Donald. If you were mine, nothing could make me give you up, but when it's only the hope of having you, then pride and self-respect have a chance to be heard.''
He was ready to move on. ``There's something in that,'' said he, lapsed into his usual seeming of impassiveness. ``But not much.''
``I never before knew you to fail to understand.''
``I understand perfectly. You care, but you don't care enough to suit me. I haven't waited all these years before giving a woman my love, to be content with a love seated quietly and demurely between pride and self- respect.''
``You wouldn't marry me until I had failed,'' said she shrewdly. ``Now you attack me for refusing to marry you until I've succeeded.''
A slight shrug. ``Proposal withdrawn,'' said he. ``Now let's talk about your career, your plans.''
``I'm beginning to understand myself a little,'' said she. ``I suppose you think that sort of personal talk is very silly and vain--and trivial.''
``On the contrary,'' replied he, ``it isn't absolutely necessary to understand oneself. One is swept on in the same general direction, anyhow. But understanding helps one to go faster and steadier.''
``It began, away back, when I was a girl--this idea of a career. I envied men and despised
``That is true--oh, SO true,'' replied she.
``But now--you have tried, and that has made a woman of you. And you have failed, and that has made you ready to be a wife--to be happy in the quiet, private ways.''
She was silent.
``I can make enough for us both--as much as we will need or want--as much as you please, if you aren't too extravagant. And I can do it easily. It's making little sums--a small income--that's hard in this ridiculous world. Let's marry, go to California or Europe for several months, then come back here and live like human beings.''
She was silent. Block after block they walked along, as if neither had anything especial in mind, anything worth the trouble of speech. Finally he said:
``Well?''
``I can't answer--yet,'' said she. ``Not to-day-- not till I've thought.''
She glanced quickly at him. Over his impassive face, so beautifully regular and, to her, so fascinating, there passed a quick dark shadow, and she knew that he was suffering. He laughed quietly, his old careless, indifferent laugh.
``Oh, yes, you can answer,'' said he. ``You have answered.''
She drew in her breath sharply.
``You have refused.''
``Why do you say that, Donald?'' she pleaded.
``To hesitate over a proposal is to refuse,'' said he with gentle raillery. ``A man is a fool who does not understand and sheer off when a woman asks for time.''
``You know that I love you,'' she cried.
``I also know that you love something else more. But it's finished. Let's talk about something else.''
``Won't you let me tell you why I hesitate?'' begged she.
``It doesn't matter.''
``But it does. Yes, I do refuse, Donald. I'll never marry you until I am independent. You said a while ago that what I've been through had made a woman of me. Not yet. I'm only beginning. I'm still weak-- still a coward. Donald, I must and will be free.''
He looked full at her, with a strange smile in his brilliant eyes. Said he, with obvious intent to change the subject: ``Mrs. Brindley's very unhappy that you haven't been to see her.''
``When you asked me to marry you, the only reason I almost accepted was because I want someone to support me. I love you--yes. But it is as one loves before one has given oneself and has lived the same life with another. In the ordinary sense, it's love that I feel. But--do you understand me, dearest?--in another sense, it's only the hope of love, the belief that love will come.''
He stopped short and looked at her, his eyes alive with the stimulus of a new and startling idea.
``If you and I had been everything to each other, and you were saying `Let us go on living the one life' and I were hesitating, then you'd be right. And I couldn't hesitate, Donald. If you were mine, nothing could make me give you up, but when it's only the hope of having you, then pride and self-respect have a chance to be heard.''
He was ready to move on. ``There's something in that,'' said he, lapsed into his usual seeming of impassiveness. ``But not much.''
``I never before knew you to fail to understand.''
``I understand perfectly. You care, but you don't care enough to suit me. I haven't waited all these years before giving a woman my love, to be content with a love seated quietly and demurely between pride and self- respect.''
``You wouldn't marry me until I had failed,'' said she shrewdly. ``Now you attack me for refusing to marry you until I've succeeded.''
A slight shrug. ``Proposal withdrawn,'' said he. ``Now let's talk about your career, your plans.''
``I'm beginning to understand myself a little,'' said she. ``I suppose you think that sort of personal talk is very silly and vain--and trivial.''
``On the contrary,'' replied he, ``it isn't absolutely necessary to understand oneself. One is swept on in the same general direction, anyhow. But understanding helps one to go faster and steadier.''
``It began, away back, when I was a girl--this idea of a career. I envied men and despised