"As what?"
"Strength, power, honor, manliness."
"I wonder," he begins, musingly, "how long strength and manliness would stand against beauty and the soft, seductive flatteries of society. I wonder what they in their ruggedness would win? What a lovely day it is, and what a solemn talk! I shall bore you," suddenly changing his tone.
Marcia protests. They ramble up and down, and skirmish. He has fancied her an over-ripe peach ready to fall, but is surprised at her numerous little defences. It is fortunate for her that she cannot think him in solemn earnest, for her uncertainty adds a zest to his pursuit.
When they part it is with the understanding that she shall not attend the musicale, which she really cares little about, and that he shall spend the evening with her. It is a rather bold step, and his acquiescence sends a tremor through every pulse. What if he should prove a lover?
CHAPTER XX.
Love that is ignorant, and hatred have almost the same ends.—Ben Jonson.
What if Jasper Wilmarth should prove that ardently desired person, a lover? Marcia Grandon wonders what she would do, what she had better do? The years are beginning to fly apace. True, Gertrude married at thirty, after she had lost her greatest attractions, and was quite indifferent whether she pleased or not. Marcia is past twenty-six, and it is but a step to thirty. If she could set up for a genius and have a pretty house of her own, but the house is out of the question, and to be confronted with Violet's youth and freshness every day in the year is much too bitter! Jasper Wilmarth is not a man to be proud of in society, unless it is for his very ugliness and the almost deformity. She thinks of Venus and Vulcan. She might call him playfully her Vulcan; at least, she could to her friends. She will have a house of her own, she will be Mrs., and, after all, the world is much more tolerant to married women than to spinsters of an uncertain age. She is not invited with very young girls any more, but as Mrs. Wilmarth she can ask them to her house and patronize them. Then married women are allowed to flirt shamefully with young men; and though Mr. Wilmarth cannot dance, she may have other partners. Altogether, she would be immeasurably better off, even if she did not care very much for him. But there would be a spice of romance, and somehow she half believes she could love him if she was sure, and if he loved her. She has weakly and foolishly come to care for more than one who did not love her, to whom the attention was merely pastime, or perhaps amusement. She will be wary and learn first what his intentions really are.
So at the last moment she has a headache and will not go to Madame Lepelletier's. Mrs. Grandon's invitation is for a week, and Eugene takes her down in the morning, and loiters most of the day in the seductive house. When Floyd and Violet are out of the way, Marcia attires herself in a white cashmere dress and scarlet geraniums, and steals down to the drawing-room wrapped in a Shetland shawl, nervous, curious, and expectant. What if he should not come?