American fiction -- 20th century; Divorce -- Fiction; Married people -- Fiction; Rich people -- Fiction
Paul returned the pressure of his friend's hand. "You're a good
fellow, Don. I suppose I'm hipped. That's not my way, as you know.
Usually everything with me is rose color; I'm too good an American, if
anything." He buttoned his well-fitting coat with a dignified air, as
though the pride of the suggestion had stirred his pulses like a brass
band. "The trouble is, that when I'm feeling well, everything goes,
and the only thing which seems of importance is to come out ahead of
the other fellow. So we kick over standards and degenerate. This time
I've been struck with a club, and--and I don't see that it's my fault.
Well, good-bye. As soon as I hear, I'll let you know."
XVI
There was only one shadow on Constance's present happiness, for she was
happy in her independence and her work. She had demonstrated her
ability to support herself and to defy the blow of fate which had
deprived her of a husband's aid and protection. It was the growing
perception that she might not be able to do all she desired for her
children. This sprang from her own keener appreciation of the value
not only of the best educational advantages, but of refined personal
surroundings in the development of character. She could inculcate
noble morals; she could teach her children to be truthful, brave, and
simple; she could provide them with public school instruction, and she
was resolved to give them, if her health remained good, the opportunity
to continue their education longer than was the wont with parents whose
offspring had their own way to make in life unaided. But her ambition,
or rather her perception of what she desired for them, did not stop
here. There were present demands which must be neglected solely
because of her straitened circumstances; and she beheld ahead a long
and widening vista of privileges from which, perforce, they would be
debarred during the formative years for a similar reason. Henrietta's
teeth were disconcertingly crooked, and should have the continuous
attention of a skilful dentist, and her voice had already that nasal
twang which, if unchecked, is sure to result in feminine inelegance of
speech. She wished that both the children, especially the girl, might
have thorough instruction in French and music, and be sent to dancing
school. Little Emil was giving signs of marked talent for drawing, and
the thought of how that gift could be developed, was already causing
her concern. It was obvious to her that each of the next ten years had
more insistent instances in store for her. She knew that she could
give her children what the democratic world delights to call a solid
foundation, but she was eager to equip them with stimulating mental
ideals and bodily graces, to put them within reach of excellence and
culture.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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