"
"You can never tell what a woman will do," she said, somewhat coldly.
"Certainly not. That's why I refuse to take no. Carley, be reasonable. You
like me--respect me, do you not?"
"Why, of course I do!"
"I'm only thirty-five, and I could give you all any sensible woman wants,"
he said. "Let's make a real American home. Have you thought at all about
that, Carley? Something is wrong today. Men are not marrying. Wives are not
having children. Of all the friends I have, not one has a real American
home. Why, it is a terrible fact! But, Carley, you are not a
sentimentalist, or a melancholiac. Nor are you a waster. You have fine
qualities. You need something to do, some one to care for."
"Pray do not think me ungrateful, Elbert," she replied, "nor insensible to
the truth of what you say. But my answer is no!"
When Harrington had gone Carley went to her room, and precisely as upon her
return from Arizona she faced her mirror skeptically and relentlessly. "I
am such a liar that I'll do well to look at myself," she meditated. "Here I
am again. Now! The world expects me to marry. But what do I expect?"
There was a raw unheated wound in Carley's heart. Seldom had she permitted
herself to think about it, let alone to probe it with hard materialistic
queries.
Pages:
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244