Mrs. Balfame: A NovelAtherton, Gertrude Franklin Horn
General
Mrs. Balfame: A Novel
Atherton, Gertrude Franklin Horn
Murder -- Fiction; Mystery fiction; United States -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction
Rush was almost drab in colour, but the bones of his face were large
and his eyes were deeply set and well apart, intensely blue and
brilliant. It was one of those narrow rigid faces the exigencies of his
century and country have bred, the jaw long and almost as salient as
that of a consumptive, the brow bold, the mouth hard set, the cheeks
lean and cut with deep lines, the whole effect not only keen and clever
but stronger than any man has consistently been since the world began.
The curious contradiction about this type of American face is that it
almost invariably looks younger than the years that have contributed to
the modelling of it; such men, particularly if smoothly shaven as they
usually are, look thirty at forty; even at fifty, if they retain their
hair, appear but little older. When Rush's mouth was relaxed it could
smile charmingly, and the eyes fill with playfulness and vivacity, just
as his strident American voice could move a jury to tears by the tears
that were in it.
At this moment all the intensity of which his striking features were
capable was concentrated in his eyes.
"I'm not going to make love to you as matters stand," he said, his voice
dry with emotion. "But I want you to divorce Dave Balfame and marry me.
Sooner or later you will be driven to it--"
"Never! I'll never be a divorced woman. Never! Never!"
His steady gaze wavered and he sighed. "You said that as if you meant
it. You think you are intellectual, and you haven't outgrown one of the
prejudices of your Puritan grandmothers--who behaved themselves because
women were scarce and even better treated than they are now, and because
they would have been too mean to spend money on a divorce suit if
divorces had come into fashion elsewhere."
"You are far from complimentary!" Mrs. Balfame raised her head stiffly,
not a little indignant at this natural display of sheer masculinity. She
would have withdrawn her arm and hastened her steps but he held her
back.
"I don't mean to be uncomplimentary. Only, you ought to be so much more
advanced than you are. I repeat, I shall not make downright love to you,
for I intend to marry you one of these days. But I shall say what I
choose. How much longer do you think you can go on living like
this?--with a man you must despise and from whom you must suffer
indignities--and in this hole--"
"You live here--"
"I came back here because I had a good offer and I like the East better
than the West, but I have no intention of staying here. I have reason to
believe that I shall get into a New York firm next spring; and once
started on that race-course I purpose to come in a winner."
"And you would saddle yourself with a wife many years your senior?" she
asked wonderingly.
But she thrilled again, and unconsciously moderated her gait still
further; they were but a few steps from her home.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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