“How ridiculous!” she exclaimed impatiently. “Does the fact of my having
expressed an opinion, necessitate there being anyone in particular? And
why should you immediately suggest Paul Bronlee? No,” and she shook her
head sagely, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Dad, but I shall never marry
Paul Bronlee even if he is one of ‘the’ Bronlees and so desirable in
your own and mother’s eyes. He bores me to death. In a year’s time, I
should be obliged to divorce him. But why discuss anything so silly?
Here we are home at last and I’m dead tired.”
Her father walked with her to the foot of the stairs and kissed her
gently.
“Hurry up into slumber-land; I’m going to have another cigar. We can
talk about your marriage another time. I don’t want to think of losing
my girl yet, nor must she think of leaving. Good-night, dear.”
“Good-night, Dad,” she replied as she returned his caress perfunctorily,
anxious to hurry away, to be alone.
Elinor Benton closed her door softly, though her impulse was to slam it.
She flung her opera coat at a couch across the room and kicked a silver
slipper into another. She stamped the still shod foot.
“Paul Bronlee, indeed!” she muttered.
She crossed over to her escritoire and from a locked drawer took out an
autographed photograph of Templeton Druid. Her heart leapt as she gazed
at it. Ah, there was a man! And he loved her! She held the pictured
likeness to her lips, then held it at arm’s length as she half
whispered:
“And they would talk to me about Paul Bronlee when I have you, dear
heart! But never fear—I’ll show them I have a mind of my own. Looks as
if I was going to have trouble with dad, too, but we’ll both show them.
Marry first and tell them after—that’s the idea.”
Tenderly as though the pictured likeness were a living entity, she
placed it back in its drawer which she carefully locked. Then she turned
to ring for her maid. When Marie’s soft knock came on the door, Elinor
Benton was lounging in a deep easy chair, her fair head nodding, but her
thoughts wide awake, her mind filled with the image of one man.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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