Jim felt himself flushing. He had not connected Marie Ducharme with himself in the way Zaanan connected her. He had not considered his hatred of Moran as prompted by jealousy, nor had he looked on Moran as a rival. It was a new idea to him. He considered it. What interest had he in Marie? Did he even like her? He had fancied he disliked her for her sullenness, her rashness, for the bitterness of her temper toward the world. She was all somber shadows or lurid flame; there was no rosiness of dawn, no brightness of noontime, no peaceful, pure light as of the stars.
When Jim had thought of the woman who was to share his life he had pictured her as bright with star-brightness. He would stand something in awe of her, yet her brightness would not be cold, aloof—not cold moon rays. It would be tender, glowing, throbbing, but, above all, pure, inspiringly pure. Marie knew evil. Her discontent had seen its beckoning finger; she had felt the persuasive touch of its hand on her arm—and had not fled in horror. She eyed it cynically, plumbing its possibilities. Jim’s girl would have felt herself indelibly smirched by thoughts that Marie gave willing housing to. Withal, what did he think of her? What was his interest in her? He could not answer. He dared not answer himself, for he found himself contemplating her with fascination. There was an appeal to her. Her possibilities were magnificent. He found himself wishing for her presence, for the sight of her movements of grace, the sound of her voice, the vivid life desire that lay in her eyes.
“Moran takes her to the top of a high mountain and shows her the kingdoms of the world,” he said, in a hard voice. “He offers them to her.”
“And you’re afraid she’ll accept?”
“She hates Diversity; life discontents her. She is bored. Moran plans deliberately, adds lure to lure. If he catches her in the mood—”
“Interestin’ girl, eh? Talk intelligent? Good company?”
“She can be if she chooses.”
“Ever try to git her to choose?”
“She doesn’t like me.”
“Huh! Hain’t much in the way of excitement in Diversity, but pleasure’s where you look for it hard enough. I call to mind enjoyin’ buggy rides. Ever try to make things pleasant for Marie?”