"Good-by," I said. "Mother will want me, and I mustn't linger any longer."
I managed to smile until I had left them, but the tears would come as I hurried up the hill toward home. Oh, how can I bear it!
January 23. The happiness of George is the thing which should be considered. In any case I am helpless. I can only wait, in woman's fashion. Even if I were convinced he would be happier and better with me,—and how can I tell that?—what is there I could do? My duty is by mother's sick-bed, and even if my pride would let me struggle for the possession of any man, I am not free to try even that degrading conflict. I should know, moreover, that any man saved in spite of himself would be apt to look back with regret to the woman he was saved from. Jean Ingelow's "Letter L" is not often repeated in life, I am afraid. Still, if one could be sure that it is a danger and he were saved, this might be borne. If it were surely for his good to think less of me, I might bear it somehow, hard as it would be. But my hands are tied. There is nothing for me but waiting.
January 24. George met Kathie last night as she was coming here, and sent word that he had to drive over to Canton. I thought it odd for him to send me such a message instead of coming himself, for he had not seen me since I met him in the street with Miss West. To-day Aunt Naomi came in, and the moment I saw her I knew that she had something to say that it would not be pleasant to hear.
"What's George Weston taking that West girl over to Canton for?" she asked.
It was like a stab in the back, but I tried not to flinch.
"Why shouldn't he take her?" I responded.
Aunt Naomi gave a characteristic sniff, and wagged her foot violently.
"If he wants to, perhaps he should," she answered enigmatically.
The subject dropped there, but I wonder a little why she put it that way.