Love stories; Unmarried mothers -- Fiction; Women household employees -- Fiction
“You know I’d care. But if you felt that you wanted to, I wouldn’t try
to stop you. I wouldn’t expect to be all in all to one man, unless he
wanted me to be.”
“Where do you get those ideas, Jennie?” he asked her once, curious to
test the breadth of her philosophy.
“Oh, I don’t know, why?”
“They’re so broad, so good-natured, so charitable. They’re not common,
that’s sure.”
“Why, I don’t think we ought to be selfish, Lester. I don’t know why.
Some women think differently, I know, but a man and a woman ought to
want to live together, or they ought not to—don’t you think? It doesn’t
make so much difference if a man goes off for a little while—just so
long as he doesn’t stay—if he wants to come back at all.”
Lester smiled, but he respected her for the sweetness of her point of
view—he had to.
To-night, when she saw this woman so eager to talk to Lester, she
realized at once that they must have a great deal in common to talk
over; whereupon she did a characteristic thing. “Won’t you excuse me
for a little while?” she asked, smiling. “I left some things uncared
for in our rooms. I’ll be back.”
She went away, remaining in her room as long as she reasonably could,
and Lester and Letty fell to discussing old times in earnest. He
recounted as much of his experiences as he deemed wise, and Letty
brought the history of her life up to date. “Now that you’re safely
married, Lester,” she said daringly, “I’ll confess to you that you were
the one man I always wanted to have propose to me—and you never did.”
“Maybe I never dared,” he said, gazing into her superb black eyes, and
thinking that perhaps she might know that he was not married. He felt
that she had grown more beautiful in every way. She seemed to him now
to be an ideal society figure-perfection itself—gracious, natural,
witty, the type of woman who mixes and mingles well, meeting each
new-comer upon the plane best suited to him or her.
“Yes, you thought! I know what you thought. Your real thought just left
the table.”
“Tut, tut, my dear. Not so fast. You don’t know what I thought.”
“Anyhow, I allow you some credit. She’s charming.”
“Jennie has her good points,” he replied simply.
“And are you happy?”
“Oh, fairly so. Yes, I suppose I’m happy—as happy as any one can be who
sees life as it is. You know I’m not troubled with many illusions.”
“Not any, I think, kind sir, if I know you.”
“Very likely, not any, Letty; but sometimes I wish I had a few. I think
I would be happier.”
“And I, too, Lester. Really, I look on my life as a kind of failure,
you know, in spite of the fact that I’m almost as rich as Croesus—not
quite. I think he had some more than I have.”
“What talk from you—you, with your beauty and talent, and money—good
heavens!”
“And what can I do with it? Travel, talk, shoo away silly
fortune-hunters. Oh, dear, sometimes I get so tired!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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