“What do you mean?” tremulously.
“Our situation is hopeless. We can’t marry. The only thing for us to do....”
“I know,” she broke in bitterly. “I’ve heard you say that before, but I didn’t believe you meant it. We must separate and marry money; if we can.”
“Has society provided any other way of life for merely useless men like me, and merely ornamental women like you?”
She did not speak at once, but studied his face to find the reason for a mood so positive and malign. Across the screen of her thoughts floated a rose-and-silver gown—and she cried out as if she had been struck.
“I’ve been blind! I see it now. You mean to marry Rosamond.”
“What an idea!” awkwardly, his eyes avoiding hers.
“Don’t try to deceive me. You may as well admit it. You’ve told me you mean to throw me aside for some rich woman. Is it Rosamond? Yes, of course, it is! What has she done to make you think you have a chance with her?” She caught hold of his arm and turned him to her.
“Nothing,” he sneered; “but I suspect it works both ways—this benign social law with its talk. It won’t let us marry—because we’re poor. Well, it won’t let her alone, either—because she’s rich. This is Rosamond’s fourth year of widowhood. Gossip has its eye on her. She’ll have to marry. I am a kinsman—being a distant cousin of her departed husband’s. That gives me a more familiar footing here. Gossip will naturally pick me out as the most likely bridegroom. In other words, don’t let their miserable, superwise social code crush you, but twist it round and use it to your own advantage.”
The passion in her face seemed to blend all the bitter emotions—scorn, jealousy, deep anger—with a fierce resolve.