"No, not yet—not with people of that sort."
"They don't look to be so wrong," Alva spoke half-musingly. "They just look like plain, quiet people. I'm sure there's no evil in them!"
"Perhaps she made up the love affair?"
"She never made that man up, Lassie; that man is a real man. You can't 'make up' men like that."
"But if he is rich and loves her, would he let her be living this way and chasing her around that way. That does seem so awfully funny, to me,—for a rich man to spend the nights outside the window of a girl who hasn't even a change of pocket-handkerchiefs,—and she isn't pretty either, you have to admit that, Alva?"
"Lassie, you do look at everything from such a petty, worldly standpoint. Of course it isn't your fault, but you judge too easily. How do you know what rule governs that man; there are some men that no one can understand,—they seem to be a race apart. All their springs of action differ from the usual sources. I've been in love with such a man—I'm in love with him now—I am going to marry him. The ordinary woman wouldn't care much for a love that had to be set aside for bigger things, as his for me was at first. But I understood. I accepted the situation. All situations have their key—their clue—if one can get a little way outside of body and senses, and then study them thoughtfully."
"Well, but if the man is an exceptional man as yours is, what can interest him in such a girl?"
Alva shook her head. "You don't find her interesting, and you will never go near enough to her spirit to change your view; but she interests me, and some day you'll come to see that every human being is full of interest, if we will but take the trouble to hunt the interest out. I have learned that lesson, and all that I can think of is the apparent trouble and need of these two."
"Would you have a man as great as the man you love, marry such a girl with such a mother, Alva?"
"I would have people who love sincerely always marry, whoever they love."