Mate selection -- Fiction; United States -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction
“Fine, Kit! This is the kind I like. Nice boy; you’d never offer me
feminine substitutes, would you? Say, Kit, I was looking at you. You’re
not a genius, but you have sense. I believe I honestly do want your
opinion, though I set out to ask it in order to be nice, rather than
from actual craving for it,” she said.
“Go to it, Helen!” said Kit, throwing himself into a deep chair and his
used match into a small hammered dish at the same time. “What’s wrong?
I suppose I should say: Who is it? since it’s a girl’s confidence that
I’m to receive.”
“Oh, piffle, Kit! You know me better than that,” cried Helen. “In
fact, it’s the opposite sort of confidence. I’m not a bad-looking girl,
you know. Kit----” She paused.
“Ripping. Stunning,” said Kit.
“And my father is at once a coming man and a man that has arrived,”
Helen nodded acknowledgment of Kit’s interpolation, “so men, several,
want to marry me! Kit, I’m trying to decide whether I’ll ever marry,
or go in for a career. Now, just wait! I’ve brains as well as looks;
I sing well, but not well enough to follow it up too far. My father
could get me pretty much anything I wanted. I don’t care to marry as
most women do. I know precisely its value, both as an arrangement,
we’ll call it, and as a supplement to a clever, handsome woman’s
assets. But I can get on without marrying; in fact, I’m not sure I’d be
happy married. I think I can reach my goal, in the shape of a career,
just as well unencumbered. What would you say to me as a Power, a
Lady-with-a-Salon, a Personage to be Reckoned With in the State at
Washington? Look here, Kit, wouldn’t that be a game to play alone? I’d
lose a lot of my winnings with a partner. And besides, I couldn’t carry
out the game if I married for love. A friendly, able partner would
be the only one for that, and they’re not common. Men aren’t often
friendly to a girl who is ripping, as you call it.”
“Well, my gracious, Helen, what makes you put it up to me? What do
I know about it? And exactly what are you getting at?” cried Kit,
perturbed.
“Because, Kit, and you’d have seen this if you weren’t the sort you
are, there’s a man who wants me bad; right away, too! And I don’t know.
He’s richer than the Ind. I like him, but he loves me. That’s likely to
be a nuisance. It wouldn’t do, would it? And I’ve got to decide pretty
soon as to him, and I’d like to decide as to myself, too, and get about
my job. It’s tiresome to hang along, and time is valuable. Youth for
beginnings, you know.”
Helen waited, and Kit looked at her from a new angle. He did not know
this Helen. He saw her with eyes that viewed her as a man sees a woman
who is desired by other men. And how mistaken his aunt had been to
think that she was ready to marry him! She was not considering him; she
was frankly his old friend who liked, trusted, consulted him. In this
rôle he liked her.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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